got your heart in a headlock
by nishikis
Summary: Starring a grumpy theater major, a green-eyed, blue-haired terror, a club of twenty-something misfit dreamers, too much coffee to possibly be healthy, and general mayhem. horikashi, college!au.
1. Chapter 1

"Chai latte!" Hori shouts over his shoulder, scribbling furiously on the paper cup before passing it to someone else. He manages a thin-lipped smile at the customer and beats a little rhythm on the counter, letting out a sigh of relief when the drink is passed forward, and at last, the morning rush is over.

Grateful for his quick reprieve, he slouches against the counter, dreading the pile of dirty laundry sitting in his hamper and that eviction notice hanging on his doorway.

Then again, who said that being a theater major would be easy?

The bell tinkles from the doorway, and in waltzes Sakura, humming under her breath. She pauses, appraising him over her polka-dotted muffler. "What's with the long face?"

"Morning rush hour. Enough said." He blows out his cheeks, quipping, "Honestly, I should talk to the boss about a raise. You wouldn't believe how crazy it gets in here."

She laughs, shedding her blue peacoat and hanging up on the rack. "Well, I'll take over from here." Tying on her apron, she halts in her tracks, pursing her lips in a frown. Her eyes narrow in suspicion. "Have you been calling your family lately?"

He considers lying, but decides against it; no matter what he tries, she knows him too well to be fooled by it, anyways. "...no," he concedes wearily.

Sakura groans in exasperation. "Hori!" she chastises. "You know they love you!"

Hori rolls his eyes. "Yeah, that would _totally_ explain why they cut me off and let me fend off for myself in the terrifying world of student debt. I call bullshit."

She cringes, and for a moment, he almost believes that she's shrunken even further. "Well, you can't really _blame_ them…" she trails off feebly, hesitating. "They have a point, I guess. Maybe it wouldn't be such a bad idea if, you know...gave in?"

He gives a derisive snort, slipping into his windbreaker. "And sell my soul to the study of medicine? No thanks." Slinging his backpack over his shoulder, he glances at his watch. "As much as I'd love to chat, I have to get to class. Text me later?"

"Call your parents!" Sakura shouts after him as the door slams shut.

He stuffs his hands into his pockets, giving a mournful shake of his head.

_What the hell are you going to do with yourself, Hori?_

* * *

><p>After an hour of relentless Shakespeare quotes, Hori trudges into the laundromat, lugging an enormous bag of dirty clothes and barely stifling his yawn. Beadily eyeing his schedule, he thinks wistfully of the comfort of the coffee shop, craving a French Vanilla coffee and a chocolate croissant, yearning for the whir of the blender and the clink of coins and the aroma of Sakura's famous peppermint hot cocoa.<p>

_Oh, right, Sakura, _he thinks._ Isn't her birthday coming up? Yeah, yeah, a little over a month. _He files that into some obscure compartment of his brain, and thinks fervently about every shop display case he's seen in the past week, and oh right, she was dropping hints about getting that overpriced watercolor kit, right?

A handful of coins bonks him on the head, and he swears under her breath, rubbing the sore spot on his scalp.

"Oh my God, are you alright?" someone squeaks.

He glances up, preparing his deluxe death glare, but hesitates when he realizes it's a _girl_.

The first thought is,_ oh god, so tall_, because his height's always been a sensitive topic (which is probably why he's stuck around Sakura for so long), and really, her limbs seemed to extend for a thousand miles and her eyes are stupidly, stupidly green, and _shit_, he should really stop gaping at her like a total perv.

He does his best to hide his flush, averting his eyes. "Um, yeah, I'm okay. Just be, uh, more careful next time."

She laughs sheepishly, running her fingers through her unruly blue hair. "Yeah, sorry about that. I'm such a klutz, haha!" Smoothing down the edges of her skirt, she gathers up the coins, scrunching up her face as she counts them. "Oh, darn. Just fifty cents short!"

Hori clears his throat, holding out two quarters. "You can just pay me back lat-"

Eyes lighting up, she snatches the coins out of his hands, shoving them into the slot and pressing buttons at a rapid-fire pace. Pretty soon, her clothes are churning in the machine, the windows splashed with soapy water.

"Gee, thanks, pal! You really saved my life there," she chirps, before winking at him and skipping out the door. "Anyways, see ya around!"

As she speeds off, a sheet of paper flutters down from her pocket. He snatches it up and whips his head around, protesting, "Wait, you forgot-" but she's seemingly vanished into thin air.

Heaving a sigh, he looks down at the paper. _Shakespeare's Romeo and Juliet, _it reads. _Auditions December 4th and 5th. All are welcome!_

A broad grin spreads across his face.

This is it.

* * *

><p>"Names?" a bubblegum-chewing senior asks, looking thoroughly bored as she passes around a clipboard through the rows of auditorium chairs. Hori eagerly accepts a pen, signing his name with a flourish. <em>Masayuki Hori, junior. Auditioning for the role of Romeo.<em>

"Oh, hey! You're the guy from yesterday, right?"

His eyes bulge out of their sockets, because _oh God, this cannot be happening._

The girl slides into the seat besides his, grinning from ear to ear. "Yeah, sorry about that. I was kind of in a rush, so I didn't have time to introduce myself, but...hi! I'm Yuu Kashima. It's nice to meet you!"

He eyes her warily, shaking her proffered hand. "Um, hey. Masayuki Hori."

She beams at him, tucking a loose strand of hair behind her ear. "So, excited? Who are you auditioning for?"

"Romeo, of course. Tybalt or Mercutio would be nice, too." Hori shrugs. "And you?"

Kashima brandishes an invisible sword, pressing a hand to her chest. "But soft! what light through yonder window breaks? It is the east, and Juliet is the sun." She grins crookedly at him. "What do you think, dummy?"

He gapes at her. "But you're a _girl_."

She cocks her head to the side, genuinely bewildered. "Your point being?"

Hori doesn't even know where to begin.

Before he can even unknot his tongue enough to dignify that with a response, the senior taps the microphone, announcing, "Auditions will begin shortly. Will Yuu Kashima please come to the stage?"

With a dangerous gleam in her eyes, Kashima bounds to her feet and flashes him a brilliant smile, clapping him on the shoulder. "Well, here I go! Best of luck to you, chap." As she strides confidently down the aisle, everyone's jaws go slack, eyes bulging at the very sight of her.

"No way! _The_ Kashima?" the boy to his left, Matsushita, says incredulously.

Hori raises his eyebrows at him. "What, is she a celebrity or something?"

"You haven't heard of her?" Matsushita exclaims. "Yuu Kashima? Daughter of only the most famous actress in Hollywood? Rich as balls? The sole reason why every guy in sophomore year is single? Have you been living under a rock?"

"A very comfortable one, if I do say so for myself," Hori mumbles under his breath, thoroughly unimpressed. He has far more pressing matters to concern himself with than resident gossip.

Ignoring him, Matsushita parades on. "Anyways, she's amazingly talented. God knows why she's settled for going to our school, out of all places. I mean, with her status, she could be waltzing over to the Ivy Leagues by now!"

"_Please_. Get over yourself, Matsushita." Hori scoffs. "Wealthy hardly equals talented, especially for a total bonehead like her. If there's one thing I know, it's that all of these trust fund babies are privileged idiots without a single talented bone in their-"

Kashima collapses to her knees with a resounding _thwack_, banging her fists on the stage and wailing, "Oh, my love, my life! Death that hathsuck'd the honey of thy breath! Thou art not conquer'd; beauty's ensign yet, is crimson in thy lips and thy cheeks."

Within a few moments, it seems like everyone but him is dissolved in a puddle of tears.

Hori smacks a hand to his forehead.

_Well, fuck._

* * *

><p>"Come on, I'm sure you weren't <em>that<em> bad," Sakura says consolingly, washing the dregs from a stained coffee pot. "I mean, she _is_ Kashima."

"Even so..." Hori lets out a sigh, wiping the pot with a towel. "God, I must have looked like such a kid compared to her. I thought I could prove to my parents that this was worth it, but...ugh, I was so, so stupid to think that I could compete with her." He looks gloomily down at the checkered flooring. "Maybe I should have just listened to them."

Her eyes widen to the size of saucers. "You don't actually mean that, right, Hori?"

He narrows his eyes at her. "Weren't you the one who suggested it in the first place?"

Sakura stammers, flushed a deep tomato red. "B-but that's just me being a naggy friend, you know? I didn't think that you'd actually, like, _listen_ to me." She suddenly grows solemn, turning a steely gaze on him. "But seriously, Hori...you can't just give up. This is what you love, right? You can't just let something like this get you down."

"Yeah, you're right. I'm just stressed, is all." Hori gives a reluctant smile. "Sorry for worrying you."

She brightens considerably, clapping him on the shoulder. "Totally! I mean, if you didn't get the lead, you could still be one of the side characters, right?"

He tousles her hair, grinning at the alarm on her face.

Good old Sakura.

* * *

><p>In a list of twenty names, not a single one is Masayuki Hori.<p>

He clenches his fists, digging his nails into his palms, and tries to bruise away the hurt in those little red half-moons because he is not going to start sobbing in public like a baby, dammit.

_Romeo- Yuu Kashima_, the top line reads.

"Hori-senpai! Just the man I wanted to see!" Lo and behold, his greatest nightmare is standing before him, her hair as unruly as always, cheeks flushed and eyes gleaming. She grins impishly at him, hands on her hips. "I watched your audition the other day, and holy cow, you were incredible! You should have heard me that day, I couldn't stop going on and on and on-"

"Are you here to gloat?" he snaps, his lips pulled taut. "Here to make fun of the itty-bitty commoners? Well, by all means, go ahead."

She cocks her head to the side; the pure perplexity on her face makes him want to punch the living daylights out of her. "Hori, what are you saying?"

The ugly words pour out of him before he can stop them. "Of course. Little Miss Kashima, perfect and talented and popular. Little Miss Kashima, who gets whatever the hell she wants from her rich _mommy._" He lets out a derisive snort. "A prince, my ass. You're nothing but a spoiled little girl who's had everything in her life handed to her on a silver platter."

Kashima's face falls. Suddenly, her expression hardens.

"What if everyone wasn't who you thought they were? What, then?"

She gives him one final look, before turning on her heel and flouncing away, her gray skirt dappled by the sunlight.

* * *

><p>There's a relentless pounding in his head and an itch at his throat, yet here he is, spending his Friday night slaving away at the counter, measuring out coffee and drizzling syrups and swirling galaxies of whipped cream onto that familiar trucker's mocha.<p>

Thankfully, Sakura has the good grace to listen to his incoherent babblings.

"You do know that what you did was wrong, right?" She purses her lips at him.

Instinctively, he goes on the defensive. "Of course! My moral compass isn't that off-wack, thank you very much." He goes into another prolonged coughing fit, before his shoulders slump. "Yeah, yeah. I know it was shitty. I was just stressed, and, you know...took it out on her."

"Have you apologized?" Sakura asks.

"How the hell am I supposed to do _that_?" Hori demands, affronted. "It's taking all of my brain power just to avoid her, for Christ's sake, and now you expect me to _apologize_?"

"_Hori_," she chastises, narrowing her eyes at him.

He heaves a sigh, massaging a knotted-up muscle in his shoulders. "Just give me a break, okay? It's not like I _want _to be working the 10 PM shift." Something dawns on him. "Speaking of which...what the hell are _you_ doing here? Shouldn't you be doing your usual Sakura things, like, I don't know, cuddling stray puppies or whatever?"

Sakura goes pink. "Haha, very funny," she bleats feebly.

"_Sakura,_" he mimicks. "But seriously. What is it?"

She gestures wildly, the color of cheeks resembling her hair ribbons by now. "Well, you know," she squeaks, "just wanted to keep you company. Being a good friend. Yeah."

He gives her a hard look. "Sakura, you're the nicest person I know. But even you, my best friend, are not _that _nice."

"Fair point." Sakura cringes, before lowering his voice. "Okay, fine. So the thing is-"

The door swings open, bringing with it a gust of wind and a smattering of water droplets. A hulking giant of a boy steps through, stooping a little to prevent from smacking into the wall. Spiky black hair glistening with rain, he closes his umbrella and blinks owlishly at them, tilting his head to the side.

"Welcome!" Hori exclaims, twisting his lips into a painful grin. He elbows Sakura in the side when she doesn't follow suit; she's now a dangerously violent shade of magenta, and it looks like she's about to explode, the way her fingers are trembling on the counter and her lips are moving soundlessly and-

_Oh._

When his attempts to unpetrify her fail, he gives up entirely, turning back to the boy with a genial smile. "Long day, huh? No wonder you need a pick-me-up."

"I was merely observing the romantic nuances of tonight's storm," he deadpans, eerily solemn. "Results: inconclusive." Sakura makes an unintelligible squeak in response, but he doesn't seem to notice.

Well, it's not like he's the weirdest fellow Hori's seen at the shop. But honestly, Sakura, sensible and cheery _Sakura_, falling head over heels, _middle school puppy love_, for this nutjob? It's unfathomable, really. "Um...sure." Eager to change the subject, Hori waves in the general direction of the menu board. "So, pick your poison."

"Salted caramel mocha," Sakura mutters, still flustered. He barely spares her glance, nodding curtly in reply.

"Well, if you say so." He picks up a paper cup and a Sharpie, poising it over the cardboard. "Sorry, didn't catch your name earlier. What was it again?"

"Nozaki," the boy says, and Hori files this information away in his head, painstakingly copying his name in neat print. "Great. We'll be with you shortly."

Once Nozaki is safely out of earshot, sitting in the remotest corner of the coffee shop and nursing his mocha while scribbling something on a pad of paper, Hori folds his arms over his chest and smirks at Sakura. "So."

She flushes once more, turning defiantly away from him. "What?"

"This is quite the development," he says, rather delicately. "Care to tell me what happened?"

Sakura sighs, defeated. "Okay, so my expressionism class started the other day, right? I walk in, a few minutes late, and there's super tall guy inside, and the only seat's next to him, so I take it, okay? And pretty soon we're partnered together and he's actually really, really talented and lifted me up when I couldn't reach the canvases and it...sort of started from there."

"Have you tried telling him how you feel?" Hori asks.

"Yeah, but...it's not going terribly well." She slams her hand on the counter, hissing, "It's driving me insane, Hori. This guy is just so unbelievably dense. I mean, he's even more clueless than you!" Hori wisely refrains from commenting. "I've tried everything. Literally everything! I've dropped hints, I've flirted, I've used every pick-up line in the book, I even _wrote my goddamn number on his coffee cup. _But you know what he does? He gives it back and tells me 'there's been a mistake.'" Her voice takes on a note of hysteria. "I'm not sure how much more of this I can take!"

"Remind why you like this guy again?" He raises an eyebrow at her.

"I know he's dense and all...but under all of that, he's actually really sweet!" Sakura protests, before whimpering, "You won't tell anyone, right?"

"Yes, because becoming totally incapable of normal human function is _so_ subtle," Hori quips, dodging a swift kick to the head. "Easy there, feisty pants. It was a _joke_, for crying out loud." He composes himself, declaring, "I swear on my balls that I, Masayuki Hori, will not tell a soul."

Sakura regards him suspiciously for a moment, before finally sighing in relief. "Thank God. I knew I could count on you." She tenses up again, however, when he clamps a hand over his mouth to hide his smile. "What are _you_ laughing at?"

Hori waves an airy hand. "No, no, it's just funny." Eyes glinting with mischief, he adds, "I mean, I never pegged you as the masochistic type."

_THWACK!_

* * *

><p>By the time their shift ends and they're about to close up shop, it's full-out pouring, and as luck would have it, he's neglected to bring an umbrella. Wincing at the claps of thunder, he looks gloomily up at the sky.<p>

"Oh, geez, I thought it would clear up before now!" Sakura frets, frowning at her phone. "I'd better call a taxi. You coming?"

Hori shakes his head. "Uh-uh. There's no way I could possibly afford it. I'll just walk." One cue, a particularly howling gust of wind rips through the nearby thicket of trees. He cringes.

"Hori!" she exclaims, horrified. "Are you trying to kill yourself? Come on, I'll just pay for it!" When he doesn't reply, she lets out a huff of exasperation, batting him on the forearm. "Stop being stubborn for once and just listen to me!"

"You know I'd never be able to pay you back." He gives her a lemony smile. "Honestly, Sakura. Just let it go.

The vibrant yellow vehicle pulls up to the curb, honking its horn, but Sakura pays it no mind, scowling at him. "This isn't me trying to be charitable, okay? This is me being worried about my best friend. Ever thought that maybe your so-called selflessness was just making everything worse?"

Her words sting, but even so, he isn't swayed. Sakura's done enough for him already; burdening her even more is the last thing he wants.

The driver rolls down the windows, a cigarette sticking out of his mouth. "Hey, you getting in or what?"

"You should go," he tells her, giving her a gentle nudge forward. "Trust me. I'll be fine."

A whole entire rainbow of conflicting emotions races across her face for a split second, but eventually, Sakura concedes, slipping into the taxi. "Alright,_ fine_." She glowers at him. "But if the police finds your dead body tomorrow morning, I'm going to kill you. Okay?"

Hori grins half-heartedly at her. "Gotcha."

When the taxi finally peels away from the curb, taillights flashing as it speeds away, Hori exhales shakily, puffing out of his cheeks. "Lord help me," he mumbles, before pulling the hood of his sweater over his head and sprinting as fast as he can down the street.

_Just a ten minute walk_, he tells himself. _No biggie._

Two minutes later, he's beginning to regret it.

Hori's chilled to the bone, shirt soaked through, sneakers scuffed and splashed with mud, and he can't seem to stop shivering, fingers beaded with fat raindrops. Standing there, drenched and battered and shaking, every failure in his life hits him with the force of a bullet train, all of the disappoint and regret, pursed lips and sharp red "F"s, because it seems like everything in his goddamn life is nothing but failure and failure, beating down on him like a tidal wave, a shadow that looms _nearer and nearer and nearer-_

"...Hori-senpai?" Kashima blinks blearily at him, holding an umbrella over her head. Just before she can turn away from him, he catches a glimpse of red-rimmed eyes and mussed hair, clenched fists and hollow cheeks.

"Kashima?" He can only gape at her. "What're doing here?"

She tilts her head to stare at him, before gazing up at the sky. "Running."

"From what?" The words fall from his lips before he can stop them.

Kashima doesn't reply, only manages a sad smile at him.

"_What if everyone wasn't who you thought they were? What, then?"_

"Yeah. I think I get it."

They lapse into a _pitter-patter_ of silence.

After a beat of hesitation, she thrusts her umbrella into his hands, backing away from him. "You need it more than I do," Kashima whispers. She gives his hand a squeeze and holds his gaze for a moment, and without another word, turns around and dashes away.

As Hori watches her disappear, he closes his palm, clutching her warmth closer to him.

* * *

><p>She stands alone on the stage, the glaring lights casting shadows across her face as she twirls across the scratched wood, sword pressed to her chest, eyes closed and lashes fluttering.<p>

Umbrella clutched at his side, he carefully tiptoes towards her.

"Now, Tybalt, take the villain back again, that late thou gavest me; for Mercutio's soul is a but a little way above our heads, staying for thine to keep him company: either thou or I must go with him."

"Thou, wretched boy, that didst consort him here, shalt with him hence," Hori fires back, suppressing a smile at the way her eyes go wide, and clambers up the stairs to the stage. Raising his eyebrow at her, he brandishes her umbrella as a weapon.

Kashima grins, pointing the tip of her blade at his chest. "This shall determine that."

He isn't quite sure how it happens, just that one moment they're swiping at one another with their weapons, and the next she's laying on top of him, knees planted on either side of his torso, so close that the tip of her nose brushes against his chin and he can count every tiny freckle scattered across her pink cheeks and fleck of gold in her stupidly green eyes.

She sits up eventually, straddling his hips. "Where did you learn that?"

"High school. My buddies and I did it for a project once."

They go quiet.

"You deserved the role," she blurts out. "I lashed out at you 'cause...I was afraid you were right. And yeah, you were. I'm spoiled. I'm bratty. I'm selfish. And I'm sorry."

"What the hell are you apologizing for?" he snaps. "You know, nothing pisses me off more than when people apologize for things that aren't even their fault. Fucking _hell_, Kashima. You can be such an idiot sometimes."

Kashima cracks a reluctant grin. "Don't I know it."


	2. Chapter 2

_so, how are things on the nozaki front? ;) _Hori texts Sakura late at night, curled up on the couch in his pajamas with a mug of cheap Walmart hot cocoa.

His phone pings in a matter of milliseconds. _not bad._

_that's it? nothing happened?_

_well, we did go shopping together yesterday._

_no way! for what?_

_...lingerie._

His eyes bug out of their sockets. He fumbles to call her (_speed dial 1_) and waits with bated breath; she picks up on the second ring. "You shopped for- what?! Sakura!"

"It's not what it sounds like, I swear!" she protests, sounding panicked. "You know he draws manga, right? Well, he just needed to buy something for visual reference and asked me for my input, and before I really thought it through, I was sitting in his Prius and we were parking in front of Victoria's Secret and he kept shoving bras and thongs and lacy underwear in my face and all of the salesgirls were laughing at me and oh God, it was a _nightmare._"

"And? What happened after that?" he demands.

She whimpers, sounding absolutely mortified. "He asked me to _model for him_."

Hori gasps. No fucking way. "Chiyo Sakura, do not tell me you said yes."

"Of course I didn't!" Sakura exclaims, shrill. "Do you think I _wanted_ him to see me naked?"

Sweet, sweet relief crashes down on him. "Oh, thank God," he sighs. "I would have _died_ if you lost your virginity before me. I mean, having sexy thoughts about you is sort of like having sexy thoughts about my two-year-old cousin."

He can almost see her wrinkling her nose at him. "Gee, thanks for the support, Hori."

"No problem. Just one of the many services of my friendship," he quips.

Sakura heaves a sigh. "Anyways, enough about me. How are things on the _Kashima_ front?" Her voice takes on a teasing tone, and his ears go pink.

"Nothing of importance," he says hurriedly.

If he knows her as well as he thinks he does, she's definitely quirking an eyebrow at the other end of the line. "_Hori_," she says warningly. God, that girl is just _way_ too good at reading him.

"Okay, okay, you win." He sighs, and begins to tell her everything, from the late night in the rain to counting the freckles on her cheeks. "So, she's sitting on top of me, and when I look up, she's super, super close-"

"So you kissed her?" Sakura gasps.

"No, of course not! But...it was really weird," Hori confesses.

"Did you _want_ to?" she asks. He can picture her greedy curiosity, pursed lips and widened eyes.

"Honestly, Sakura? I really don't know." He leans back into the plush of his secondhand sofa, running his fingers through his hair. "I mean, I definitely don't like her. Seriously, _me_, liking Kashima? That's a recipe for trouble. And you know how I hate trouble."

Hori thinks of her damnable green eyes, the way they pierce into him and suck out his soul and make him so utterly uncomfortable and read him like he's transparent, breaking apart the the defenses he's been putting up all of these years like they're nothing.

"Funny, theater majors tend to be the opposite," Sakura remarks, slightly acidic.

"A gross stereotype," Hori dismisses, because that's the absolute_ last_ thing he wants to think about. "If that's everything, then we really should-"

"Wait, wait!" Sakura all but shrieks into his phone. "One more thing! You know Yukari Miyako, right? Senior in my sculpture class?"

"Vaguely, yeah. What about her?"

"She's starting a support group for...lonely people who don't really feel like they have anybody to talk to, and since the first meeting's tomorrow, wanna come with me?" she says breathlessly.

"So you're calling me a misfit?" Hori raises an eyebrow. "Thanks a lot."

"No, no, that's not it at all!" she protests. "It's just that, you know, I thought it would be really good for you to make some more friends! Not that I mind being your best friend, of course- it's just that it's nice, sometimes, to have more people to rely on."

"Let me get this straight: you want me to play shrink and talk about my problems with some crackpots crazy enough to actually take this shit seriously?" He snorts. "Not a chance. Don't lump me in with them, Sakura."

"Please, Hori! Can't you at least come to keep me company?" He can perfectly picture her best puppy face, watery eyes and puckered lips; he's been on the receiving end of it too many times not to. "It's my birthday soon, remember?"

Hori sighs, mulling it over in his mind, but gives in eventually, because when has he ever been able to say no to Sakura? "Alright, fine. But under one condition."

"Yes, yes, anything!" He can practically see her victory dance.

"You better make the best fucking latte for me tomorrow morning," Hori says sternly, before slamming the end-call button and throwing his cellphone onto the floor. He heaves a sigh, slouching back into the sofa.

Something tells him he's really gonna regret this later.

* * *

><p>"Hey," Hori says, leaning against the doorframe. "What's up?"<p>

But Sakura only manages a feeble bleat in reply, her hands clutching her face in utter mortification. "Kill me now," she whispers, halfway to a sob, and points a tremulous finger to the back of the room.

"Sakura, what on earth-?" Hori stops, because dwarfing his tiny desk is none other than Umetarou Nozaki in all of his glory, fervently doodling in his omnipresent notebook. "Oh, fuck."

"He must have seen Miyako hand me the flyer," she whimpered. "Hori, what am I gonna do?"

"I'd recommend making a run for it," he suggests, perking up, "and while you're at it, take me with you." He starts edging out of the room, but she lashes out at him, snatching his wrist and tugging him back inside.

"Don't you fucking dare," she hisses, shoving him into a chair. "You _promised_, Hori."

Of course, Yukari Miyako chooses that moment to come sweeping in, effectively doing away with his only means of escape. She beams at all of them, oblivious to his exasperation, and tucks a strand of loose hair behind her hot pink headband, lavender skirt swishing around her ankles. "Welcome to the group, everyone! Thank you so much for coming!"

Finally resigned to his fate, Hori leans back in his chair, surveying the motley of students. Next to Nozaki is a skinny ginger slouching in his seat and not-so-discreetly rifling through the pages of a shoujo manga. A closet otaku, maybe? He stifles a snicker.

To his right is an unpleasant-looking brunette with what seems to be a permanent scowl etched onto her face, currently beadily eyeing the freshman boy besides her. Hori has to sympathize with the poor bastard- he looks terrified out of his wits, edging away from her and looking pointedly at the carpet.

All in all, a room of basket cases.

Miyako glances at her watch, frowning. "Hm. We're still waiting on-"

The door is flung open with a bang. "Sorry I'm late!" Kashima says breathlessly, panting heavily. "Did I miss anything?"

Hori's jaw goes slack; it takes a particularly painful jab to the ribs from Sakura to jerk him back to reality. Only then does Kashima notice him, her eyes widening, then flickering away. She's remarkably quick on the recovery, managing a disarming smile at Miyako and flouncing to the seat across from him.

What is _she_ doing here?

"Oh, no, not at all!" Miyako chirps. "Actually, we were just about to get started!"

The brunette belched loudly, causing the freshman to flinch.

"So, first order of business: introductions! I'd like everyone to say their names, and um, how they're feeling today," she said brightly. "Who would like to begin?"

"Chiyo Sakura!" Sakura chirped. "I feel great, but a little sad, I guess- the guy I like doesn't seem to notice anything I do, no matter how much I try." She puts on a brave face, her bottom lip trembling. "It's discouraging, yeah, but I won't give up!"

Even so, Nozaki remains impassive. "Seems like too much trouble. Why do you bother with a guy like that anyways?"

Sakura looks as though she's on the verge of tears; Nozaki most helpfully pushes the box of tissues closer to her.

"So, moving on!" Miyako says hastily, turning to Nozaki. "Why don't you go next?"

"Umetarou Nozaki," he says, reliably blasé as always. "I am in desperate need to receive inspiration for my manga. I simply cannot rest until I have done so. Thus far, my efforts in procuring models has failed-" cue the pointed look at Sakura "-but if any of you are interested, please contact me." Completely deadpan, he begins passing out business cards.

"A sales pitch!" Sakura whimpers.

Hori barely stifles a snicker, ducking under the table to recompose himself.

"Your tenacity is very admirable, Nozaki," Miyako says weakly. "Next, please."

The brunette snorts, kicking her feet onto the table. "Yuzuki Seo," she grunts. "I'm doing awesome, thank you very much. I'm just such a perfect person, really. No wonder everyone steers clear of me!" She lets out a maniac laugh, her eyes bulging out of their sockets. "Too much perfection can be intimidating, you know?"

The freshman looks as though he wants nothing more than to argue, but a pointed look from Seo promptly shuts him up.

_What a fucking weirdo_, Hori thinks, watching her pick at her cuticles.

"Um, Hirotaka Wakamatsu," he stammers, wringing out his hands. "I've been having trouble sleeping lately, so I'm a little on edge, but it's all good. I'm very anxious, if you can't already tell."

_Yeah, no kidding._ He and Sakura exchange a meaningful look.

The ginger snaps back to attention, hiding his manga behind his back. "Mikoto Mikoshiba!" His eyes twinkle, and he leaps to his feet, extending a hand out to Kashima. "But you can call me _your majesty._" Within moments, he's flushed a deep red that could rival Sakura at her worst, curled up in a fetal position in the farthest corner of the room and rocking back and forth.

Completely flabbergasted, Miyako makes desperate eye contact with Hori.

"Masayuki Hori," Hori mutters, sinking further into his chair. "And I'm okay, I guess."

"He's been having some family issues," Sakura adds sagely, speaking over the mournful brays Mikoshiba has begun to emit.

It takes every ounce of his self-control to keep himself from strangling her. "That, too," he concedes.

Miyako cocks her head to the side, her brow crinkling in concern. "Care to elaborate, Hori?"

"They don't exactly..._approve_ of my career choice," Hori says delicately, giving a minimal shrug of his shoulders. "So yeah. I drowning in student debt, my parents sort of despise me, and things are hard right now, but what can you do?" He's aiming for indifferent, but it most likely comes out bitter, jaded, miserable.

"Well, just know that we're here for you, Hori!" Miyako says brightly. "Say it with me, everyone!"

"We're here for you," everyone choruses. Hori pointedly avoids Kashima's piercing gaze, hating her curiosity, her innocence, the questions so visible in those green, green eyes. Hating, hating, hating.

"Hi, everyone, I'm Yuu Kashima!" she trills, cheery as ever, grinning crookedly from ear to ear. "And I'm doing grand! Let's see: well, rehearsal's been crazy, and I'm swamped with lines right now, so it's kinda overwhelming, but I'm fine!"

_Bullshit._

Their eyes meet, dull brown to brilliant green, and he knows she knows it, too.

_Fine _is not stumbling blindly around in the pouring rain a quarter to midnight. _Fine_ is not red-rimmed eyes and trembling fingers that squeeze your hand and beg you to forget.

Hori hates how much he wants to unravel her, figure her out like she's a jigsaw puzzle, thousands of scattered pieces across a hardwood floor, hates how much he fucking _cares_.

* * *

><p>"A small French vanilla cappuccino, please."<p>

Hori whips around, dropping the box of tea bags he'd been arranging with a clatter. He can only gape.

Kashima's standing sheepishly before him, wrapped up in a navy blue raincoat, the tip of her nose buried into her scarf. As anxious as he's ever seen her, she fidgets, just barely managing an apologetic smile.

As much as he wants to turn her down, he forces himself to nod.

"Coming right up," Hori says in a monotone, reaching for a cup.

She hesitates. "Hey, about yesterday-"

"Don't ask, and I won't either, okay? It's really none of your business," he says sharply, pouring the espresso inside and topping it with a thick layer of creamy milk. He can't really bring himself to care when she winces, biting her lip. Tracing a messy heart in the foam, he snaps the lid on and hands it to her. "That'll be five hundred yen."

Kashima cradles the cup to her chest, sliding a ten thousand yen bill across the counter. "Keep the change."

Before he can protest, she's out the door, leaving only a gust of misty wind behind her.

* * *

><p>"Introducing my brand new project!" Miyako warbles. "Since we can't meet all the time, and you might someone else to talk to in private when we can't all get together like this, I'm launching the angel program!"<p>

Hori grimly nibbles at his glazed donut, bracing himself for the impact.

"Think of it this way: two total strangers, partnered together to make each other's lives better. Instead of facing your struggles alone, you'll have someone to lean on, someone to make an emergency call to. You never know, that stranger could end up becoming your best friend! Doesn't that just sound great?" She pauses, waiting expectantly for their reaction.

Seo yawns, Wakamatsu blanches, and Mikoshiba continues to fondle his shoujo figurines under the table.

All in all, a normal day in the club.

Clearing her throat, Miyako begins passing around a bucket filled with tiny slips of paper. "Remember, the person with the same number as you is your partner!"

Seo, two. Wakamatsu, also two. She leers at him, and he gulps.

_Well, at least she's out of the way, _Hori thinks, thanking God for his good fortune.

Mikoshiba, four. Kashima, one. Sakura, three.

_Please be Sakura, please be Sakura, _he thinks desperately, over and over again, squeezing his eyes shut as he sticks his hand into the hat, shuffling the remaining three papers around. Plucking one up, he practically tears it open.

_One._

A heartbreaking _one._

_Actually, fuck you, God._

And Kashima has the temerity to look surprised, her eyes widening, her lips puckering into a little "o."

But then again, when had fortune _ever_ been on his side?

Nozaki reaches into the hat and pulls out his paper, reads it out without so much as batting an eye. "Three," he deadpans.

Sakura lets out a moan that sounds vaguely like the mating call of a bullfrog, face-planting into her desk to hide her mortification. Even so, the tips of her ears are quickly turning a red even deeper than that of her signature bow.

"I'm dead," she blubbers, so only he can hear. "I am so fucked."

Hori pats her reassuringly on the back, but it's hard to conjure up any sympathy for her, considering the predicament _he's_ in.

Kashima, his angel. Kashima, the one he's supposed to _rely _on.

Absolutely absurd. He's never heard anything so laughable in his entire life.

Seemingly oblivious, Miyako claps her hands together, beaming. "That makes us partners, Mikoshiba!"

Mikoshiba mumbles incoherently, slouching so far in his chair only the tufts of his red hair are visible over the table. Hori smirks in spite of himself, drumming his fingers against the table, because this is just too goddamn funny, isn't it?

"Since we don't know each other very well, let's get together and ask each other some questions!" Miyako says. "Well, everyone! Chop chop!"

Disgruntled, he trudges to the opposite side of the table, sinking into the seat besides Kashima, who's still looking a little dazed. She manages a fleeting smile at him, all shiny white teeth and lips stretched a bit too tautly to be genuine, lets out a tinkling laugh. "Well, this is quite the coincidence, isn't it?"

"_Coincidence_," Hori grumbles, hating the shape of the word on his lips. "Sure."

"So, family problems?" Kashima starts, genial. "I never would've guessed."

"Really? I thought it was obvious. I spend half of my life in the coffee shop, after all," he says grimly, tugging at his shirtsleeve.

"I'm the same," Kashima says quietly.

Hori flicks his gaze lazily to his left, watching as Sakura stutters, fisting her hands in her skirt, blushing the color of the sunset. "Last I checked, you don't spend half your-"

"The family problems, I mean."

Hori raises an eyebrow at her. "That doesn't sound very _fine _to me." He stretches out the word, letting it loll against his tongue. He's aware of how annoying he's being, on par with Sakura on her naggiest of days, but somehow, he can't bring himself to care.

She winces. "I thought we weren't gonna talk about it."

He smirks, cocking his head to the side. "Oh? But you started it."

Kashima takes a wheezy breath, exhales slowly. "Only child?" she tries again.

"Duh. Can't you see how charmingly self-involved I am?" Hori quips. "No wonder my parents hate me so much."

"I don't get how you can be so...I don't know, _flippant_ about it. Like you don't care. Like your life is some funny tragedy." The words are so biting, so vicious, so un-Kashima, he's nearly struck speechless.

"_I _piss_ you_ off?" Hori snarls. "Don't even get me started on you, Kashima. Little Miss Sunshine, skipping through the meadow and smiling and blowing kisses and pretending everything is _fine_. Oh, rehearsal's been great! Oh, everything's just fucking _dandy_!"

By this time, the room's dead silent, everyone's gaze fixated on them.

But still, he can't bring himself to care.

"_Shut up_," Kashima grinds out.

"What, gonna call Mommy on me?" Hori jeers. "Gonna send your army of maids from Bel-Air to come feather-dust me? Because I dare you, Kashima. I fucking dare you."

This seems to be Sakura's breaking point. Leaping to her feet, she loops her arm around his and frog-marches him out of the room, her grip iron tight. When they're finally out of the room, standing in the deserted corridor, she slams him against the nearest locker. "What the fuck is your problem?"

"You're on her side?" Hori protests. "You've got to be kidding me."

"Oh, don't pull that cutesy bullshit with me!" she hisses. "You did a shitty thing, Hori, and all you can do is get on the fucking defensive like a fucking idiot?"

"I think that's the most I've heard you curse in one sentence," he quips, in spite of himself.

Sakura releases him, throwing her hands up in the air. "See what I mean? That's exactly your problem. You're so overly anal when you don't need to be, but when you fuck up, you crack your stupidly morbid jokes, pretend like it doesn't bother you at all. You know what that's called, Hori? _Running away_."

Hori heaves a sigh, running his fingers sheepishly through his hair. "I know, Sakura. I know. But I can't help it sometimes, you know?"

Sakura softens, ever-so-slightly. "Fine, but just know-" she jabs a finger in his face -"you_ will _apologize. You will hunt her down after the meeting, and you will apologize. Am I clear?"

"Extremely," Hori mumbles.

"Great. Thank God that's over. Lecturing really is not my forte." She puffs out her cheeks. "Come on, I'm taking you down to the caf. God knows we both need some caffeine."


	3. Chapter 3

"Hey."

Kashima stops in her tracks, her eyes widening in surprise. Within moments, her gaze flickers away, resting uneasily on a patch of crabgrass. "Hi," she mumbles, stuffing her hands in her coat pockets.

"About earlier- I'm really sorry," Hori says. He laughs bitterly, clapping a hand to his forehead. "Christ, this is all we do, huh? Go at each other and apologize. We're sort of like yin and yang, you know- pushing at each other until nothing's left."

"But you can't have one without the other, right? They complete each other." The intensity of her gaze sends him teetering dangerously close to blushing. She glances down once more. "She put you up to this, didn't she?"

"Sakura?" Hori shakes his head. "I would've done it anyways." After a beat of hesitation, he reaches out of his palm. "Give me your phone." It's not quite a command, but it's getting there.

"What?" Kashima tilts her head to the side.

"Just do it," he says impatiently, and practically snatches the sleek white smartphone out of her hands, furiously inputting his number. He holds it back out to her. "Here. Not that you ever will, but if you need me...just give me a call."

She stares at her phone like she can hardly believe it. "Why?"

Hori scoffs. "I'm your angel, aren't I? Isn't it about time I did my job?"

Kashima hesitates, before leaning forward to place her fingers on his cheek. He nearly winces at her warmth, stark against the cold of his skin, but lets her anyways, closes his eyes and greedily soaks in the heat of her body.

When was the last time he's let someone touch him like this? The last time he's ever let anyone in?

* * *

><p>His cellphone blares obscenely loudly in the morning, jolting him awake from a pleasant dream of lazy summer days and dripping ice cream cones. It's Saturday, barely past 7 AM, the faintest rays of sunshine peeking through his Goodwill curtains, and he is so not ready for this shit.<p>

Still wrapped up in a nest of blankets, he groggily plucks it up from the nightstand and, without bothering to look at the caller ID, presses the "answer" button. "Sakura, if this is about Nozaki, I swear to fucking God-"

"Hi. It's me," Kashima pipes up, a tiny bit hesitant. "Sorry to bother you."

Resisting the urge to snap at her, he exhales shakily, still tempted to tell her to fuck off. Yesterday flashes back in startling clarity, the hurt look in her eyes, and _oh, there you are conscience, almost forgot you existed._

He forces himself to sit up, swings his legs over the edge of his bed, the bedsprings creaking in protest. "No problem," he manages through gritted teeth. "So, what's up?"

"Oh, thank God you're not mad," she says, sounding far too relieved. "Anyways, in my new mission to become self-sufficient, I've started making breakfast for himself! And, um, since I've sort of made a sense and need an honest opinion, can you come over?" A pause, then a sheepish laugh. "I know it's a lot to ask, but…"

Hori weighs his options. Taking her offer could save him the ten or so bucks breakfast at that greasy diner across the street would have cost. And besides, he reasons, it's not like he has anything to do this morning, right?

_Yup. This has nothing to do with guilt or anything like that, _he thinks._ Zilch._

"Text me your address," he says, easing to his feet and stretching his arms above his head. "I'll be there in a half an hour."

* * *

><p>He isn't quite sure what to expect, but Kashima's place is surprisingly...modest. Nothing too flashy or fancy, just a squat brick building about ten floors high, adorned with a potted plant here and there, balconies that overlook the streets.<p>

Hori takes a deep breath, tugging at the collar of his shirt, and runs his fingers over the white button labeled "Kashima." Steeling himself, he squeezes his eyes shut and presses it, listening for the static, the buzz of her voice. "Hey, it's me."

"Senpai!" she cheers. "Alright, alright, come on up!"

The door clicks unlocked, and he pulls it open, stepping into a simple foyer. Before the doorman can really notice him, he slips into the empty elevator, heads up onto the topmost floor. _Trust fund babies with their penthouse suites_, he thinks contemptuously. It takes a pinch to the forearm to keep from continuing with that train of thought.

_No more morbid jokes for you, _he chastises himself. _It's running away, remember?_

The elevator pings open, and standing there is Kashima, a white apron over her oversized flannel shirt, padding towards him in fluffy slippers. She's a total mess, dusted with flour, a glop of egg yolk dangling from her hair. "So glad you could make it!" She beams at him, slinging an arm over his shoulder.

"Yeah," Hori mumbles, catching a whiff of cinnamon and sugar as she drags him into her apartment. Yanked through the door, he gets a fair amount of time to gawp at the living room, all smooth mauve fabrics and cherry wood, sparsely cluttered with scripts and props and textbooks, surprisingly neat considering Kashima _is _Kashima.

"No maid." She grins cheekily at him. "I threw her out midway through freshman year. Too suffocating, you know?"

And no, he doesn't know, because he's grown up firmly in the middle class, just barely enough to get by, and definitely no maids. He thinks of his father, stern and stocky, working late hours and mowing the lawn and beadily eyeing Hori's latest report card. And then of his mom, mousy and shrunken, clipping coupons with puckered lips and growing thinner with every diet trend, every secondhand exercise machine she touted through the doorway.

Parents who dreamed of a perfect son, an obedient, straight-A student who got into his first choice of med school, became a neurosurgeon and married a pretty girl and birthed equally perfect grandchildren. A perfect life.

But even so, he's always been a failure.

"Earth to senpai, earth to senpai" Kashima says in a singsong voice.

Hori clears his throat. "Sorry. Just zoned out a little."

"No problem. Just thought I'd lost you there." She smiles genially and starts tugging him inside the kitchen.

It's a room full of light, chrome appliances and granite countertops gleaming in the midmorning sunshine, decorated with blue checkered curtains and tea cozies and pastel drawings of fuzzy ducklings.

"So, what's on the menu?" Hori asks, eyeing the decently sized mound of flour on the countertop, sugar dusting every available surface.

"Chocolate chip pancakes!" Kashima pulls out a chair at the two-person dining table, patting down the seat cushion. "Take a seat! It'll be ready in just a few minutes, so sit tight." She hums off-key to herself, mixing a serving of chocolate chips into the batter.

A script tucked between her elbows, she alternates between stirring and peering over at it, muttering the words under her breath.

_Guess geniuses have to practice, too, _Hori thinks.

"What part are you at?"

Kashima glances up to grin at him. "You're just in time for the first meeting!"

Abandoning the whisk, she falls to one knee, pressing a hand to her chest. "Oh, she doth teach the torches to burn bright! It seems she hangs upon the cheek of night like a rich jewel in an Ethiope's ear. Beauty too rich for use, for earth too dear so shows a snowy dove trooping with crows as yonder lady o'er her fellows shows the measure done, I'll watch her place of stand-"

"And, touching hers, make blessèd my rude hand. Did my heart love till now? Forswear it, sight! For I ne'er saw true beauty till this night," Hori finishes.

"Well, color me impressed," Kashima laughs, standing back up and turning on the stove. Pouring the batter into the frying pan, she takes a step back to cock her head at him. "Do you have the entire play memorized or something?"

"Maybe," he mumbles.

"And I thought _I _was the theater nut, Hori-senpai." She whistles appreciatively, flipping a pancake over. "Hey, you should help me practice my lines! You'd make a great Juliet to my Romeo, you're the right height for it and everyth-"

"Oh, shut up," Hori grumbles, bristling.

"A sensitive topic, then?" Kashima tucks a loose strand of hair between her ear, giving him her best shit-eating grin.

It feels too easy, the banter between the two of them, uncomfortably casual.

She pauses. "Hey...are you sure this is okay? Your girlfriend won't mind?"

Somehow, he manages to choke on thin air. "Girlfriend? What girlfriend?" The word is practically foreign to him; he's had a couple relationships, all of which ended in utter disaster, so he'll stay away from dating, thank you very much.

Perplexed, Kashima frowns at him, tenses up. "The short girl you're always with?"

"_Sakura_?" he says dubiously, before the hilarity hits him. Chiyo Sakura, his girlfriend? Fucking hilarious."No, no, you've got it all wrong. We're just really good friends, I swear. I mean, we dated for, like, three days in high school, but trust me when I say that it will never, ever happen again. We practically bit each other's heads off."

For some unfathomable reason, she relaxes, looking weirdly relieved. "Ah, so that's all it is. Whew, thank God I'm not doing anything weird."

Kashima, worried and tense? Kashima, jealous?

_No, not the "j" word, _he scolds himself. _That word is off limits._

He wonders what's going through her head, behind those brilliant green eyes and that inflated ego. Puzzles through the little crinkles in her forehead and downward quirks of her lips, wants to figure it all out, wants to _read _her, wants to know what this all means.

Can't stop looking at her.

"The pancakes'll be ready in a sec!" Kashima trills, peering over her shoulder to smile at him. Noticing the stunned look on his face, she purses her lips. "Hey, senpai? You okay?"

"It looks great." Hori gives a shake of his head, a clearing of the throat. "Sorry, but could I use the bathroom?"

She juts her thumb out the door. "First room to your left."

He slips past her, avoiding her questioning gaze, and out of the door, sidling into the hallway. It's dark and quiet, and as he gets ready to step into the bathroom, maybe splash some water on his face to cool himself down, a colorful pile of trashy tabloids catches his eye, wedged neatly between a closet and the wall.

Kashima,_ tabloids_?

Hori glances around, makes sure she hasn't followed him (he wouldn't put it past her, really), and, cursing his curiosity, bends down for a quick glance. They're neatly stacked and ordered by date, sporting glassy-eyed pictures of Photoshopped celebrities, headlines in obnoxious pink font. Each one has pages bookmarked, passages highlighted, words underlined.

On one particular issue, there's a full-page spread of a beautiful woman. Lush blue hair cascading down her milky white shoulders, green eyes framed by long lashes, a sultry pout and sleeveless Oscar de la Renta dress.

_Actress Yoriko Kashima Tells All, _the caption reads.

He hastily flips the page. It's filled with slash marks and yellow highlighter, so disorienting it all seems to pop out at once.

_Ex-husband Junichi Nakajima, famous executive producer, 57. Nasty divorce, cited irreconcilable daughter, Yuu Kashima, tomboyish and wild, caught between feud. _

It all falls into place.

Footsteps echo through the hallway, but he doesn't have the presence of mind to stop.

"Senpai? Your food is getting-"

Kashima stops in her tracks, eyes going wide.

Hori feels vaguely like a teenager caught redhanded hiding porn under his pillow. Not that he's ever been in that situation, of course.

He waits with bated breath for her next move, anticipating a slap, a kick, a punch, anything but stony silence, the shock in her eyes, but she only heaves a sigh, runs her fingers sheepishly through her hair.

"Breakfast is ready," she says with a quiet smile, holding out her hand. "You coming?"

Hori gives a jerky nod, takes her hand. It's warm and strong, reassuring, fingers that close around his and refuse to let go. He thinks of rainy nights, glazed sidewalks and the beacon of her umbrella in the distance.

Kashima sits him down at the table, handing him a plate of slightly misshapen pancakes and a bottle of syrup in front of him. "I hope it tastes okay," she laughs, sliding into the seat across from him. "I think I've practiced enough by now."

"So you could be poisoning me right now?" Hori manages, drizzling the syrup over the pancakes, hesitantly picking up the fork and knife. "Alright, let's eat." He cuts a tiny piece, chewing it with deliberation.

It's a little dry, a little on the sickly sweet side, but it tastes more or less okay. Whatever, he's not complaining.

She watches him eat. "Verdict?"

Hori swallows the bite, flashing her a thumbs-up. "Great."

"Honest opinions, remember?" Kashima reminds him. "Tell me what you really think."

"It is, though," he insists, taking a huge bite for emphasis.

"You don't need to be extra nice to apologize, you know," she says softly. "I'm not mad. Honest." He doesn't meet her eyes, just can't, settles for drumming his fingers against the table and swallowing bite after bite, sticky chocolate on his tongue.

"My parents met on the set of my mom's first movie," Kashima blurts out. "She was just a little country girl, and he was the executive producer- rich, handsome, ten years older, the works. Mom tripped over herself trying to impress him, and eventually, it worked. Less than a year later, they were married."

_Why are you telling me this? _he wants desperately to ask._ Why are you doing this to yourself?_

"She was just getting famous when I was born," she continues. "She had three miscarriages before me; she and my father didn't even name me until we were safe at home. Plain old Yuu. That's when the fighting started. It wasn't a big deal at first, but it got worse and worse. She was too naggy, too controlling, he was too absentminded, too careless. Turns out they didn't really know each other after all.

"When I was five, he came home with this woman I'd never seen, told my mom he was expecting another child and he was leaving her. She tried so hard to pretend like it didn't bother her, like she'd been expecting it, but I knew. I watched it destroy her." She shivers, her eyes glazed over. "One night, I woke up from a nightmare, went to my mom's room and saw her standing naked in front of her dresser, so thin I could practically see her ribs, and holding a knife to her neck. Just holding it there."

_Stop, stop, stop, _he wants to beg her, but he can't, because the words are all jammed up and all he can do is stare. The bites of pancakes are like poison now, oozing down his throat and contaminating in from the inside out.

"She wanted me to be her perfect little princess to prove to my father that she was fine without him. But I never could take that. I played in the woods and rolled around in mud and ripped those pink dresses apart. I stuffed frog spawn down my tutor's shirt. I snuck out of my room in the middle of the night to cut the hair she'd wanted me to grow out." Kashima pantomimes holding a pair of scissors to her head, and he can hear the quiet snip of the scissors, picture the pile of midnight blue hairs falling to the ground.

"I think that's what did it for her. When she saw my hair, she just snapped. Pushed me against the wall and grabbed my neck and asked me _why. _Why did I do this this to her, why didn't I love her, why did I have to turn out like _him_, why couldn't I just keep quiet and listen for one goddamn second?" She closes her eyes, lets out a shaky breath. "I was too scared to cry. I thought it was the end. But then, she just backed away, went glassy eyed and excused herself. Eerily calm, like the way the sky is just before a storm, you know? And that was when she stopped caring. She flew back to America for her career, and I was cast away, given the best of everything and ordered to keep quiet, to stay out of my mother's way, because wasn't I grateful? Grateful to have a mother who loved me so much, gave me everything I ever wanted, treated me like a goddamn performance monkey?"

She closes her eyes, clenched her fists. "I could've gone to the best universities. Hell, I didn't even have to work a day in my life. But you know what, senpai? I came here because I wanted a place to hide. A place where she'd never reach me, didn't care enough to, where I could, I don't know, _do _something for the first time in my life. Get things because I deserve them, not because Mommy said so. A place where I don't have to be a spoiled brat or the daughter of _Yoriko Kashima _or that manic depressive, self-destructive, ungrateful_ bitch._ I just want to be...me. I want someone to need me. I want someone to know me like I've never known myself. I want to find my _purpose_."

Kashima turns to him, fixes him with a steely look. "Do you ever feel lost, senpai? Like you'll never find your way out?"

"All the time," Hori says, hoarse.

She gives him a sad little smile. "Maybe we're more alike than you think."

They lapse into silence.

Kashima takes his plate and shuffles over to the sink, running it underneath the faucet. She hesitates. "Senpai, do you ever think that you could-?"

"Shit!" he swears, eyes widening at the sight of his cheap wristwatch. _10:34. _"I just remembered- I promised Sakura I'd take over her shift, she has some art project thing or whatever. I'm really sorry about this, but-"

"No problem!" she chirps. "I've taken up enough of your time. Need me to see you out?"

"No, no, it's fine." He pauses. "Thanks, by the way. For the food."

"Oh, that? It's nothing! Thanks for showing up in the first place, haha." Kashima waves a dismissive hand, trailing behind him as he trudges through the living room and back through the door.

"I guess I'll see you tom-"

"Wait, wait! I almost forgot!" Kashima plunges a hand into her pocket, pulling out a crumpled Post-It note. "Since you can't be in the play, I thought you might want to join stage crew. I know it's not what you had in mind, but…"

_When has anything turned out like what I had in mind?_

He gives a terse nod and gently pulls it out out of her hand, smoothing out the creases. Scrawled on the blue paper is her phone number and _3:00_, _backstage_. _See you there! _she'd also written, accompanied by a lopsided smiley face.

Hori thinks about her smiles, too, bright and wide and almost too toothy, always impossibly genuine. He wonders why he deserves this, her bubbly laughs and crooked grins, her misplaced kindness, when all he's ever been is a failure, a wash-out, a disappointment.

She fidgets, looking at him hopefully. "You'll do it, won't you? You'd see the show before everyone else, and you'd get to watch rehearsals and give us tips and everything like that, and I know how much you love-"

He pockets the Post-It note, manages a feeble smile. "I'll be there."


	4. Chapter 4

"Stage crew? Seriously?" Sakura says incredulously. "Is that her idea of being your 'angel?'"

They're hanging out in the back of the library, where the irritable librarian can't shush them, and pretending to do work, books lying forgotten in their laps, ballpoint pens twirling between fingers and beating against armrests.

"I really don't know." Hori heaves a sigh. "I mean, I did it in high school a bit, and it was okay. Just painting, building a few sets, lugging some stuff around, so on and so forth. Got a couple of art credits for my trouble, too. Maybe this is her way of telling me to get off my ass and stop feeling sorry for myself?"

"You don't need _her_ to tell you that," she admonishes.

"Not when you remind me every other minute, I don't," he says wearily. "Anyways, might as well humor her, you know? She told me some pretty personal shit yesterday. Who knows, something good might come out of it."

"You're being uncharacteristically optimistic," Sakura notes coyly. "A change of heart, perhaps?"

"And you're being uncharacteristically nosy," Hori retorts. "Speaking of optimism, or lack thereof, how's the Nozaki situation?"

"He invited me over last weekend for lunch, and I thought he'd actually caught on to something, but it turns out he'd just made too much food and needed someone to finish it." She heaves a sigh, before brightening. "But hey, I got to help him with his manga and everything, and he tried to help me come up with ideas for my project, which didn't go so well, but what can you do?"

"No lingerie, then?" he says slyly, dodging the punch to the jugular.

"Oh, shut it, you," Sakura grumbles.

"Alright, alright. What's this mysterious project you keep on mentioning, then?" He changes the subject, hoping to lighten the mood. It has the exactly the opposite effect, however; she seems to wilt before his very eyes. "Hey, what's up?"

"Oh, nothing!" A note of hysteria enters her voice. "Just that I can't think of a single goddamn idea for my project, which, might I add, is worth _half of the semester_." She faceplants into the table, letting out a piteous whimper. "Hori, what am I gonna do? If I fail this project, I'll end up flunking out, and if I flunk out, my parents will-"

"Cut you off? Yeah, I get it," Hori says bitterly.

"I mean, they've always been more supportive than your parents, but they're not, you know, _delighted _about it. They've never exactly approved of it, and if I flunk out, they'll think I'm irresponsible and 'not cut out for it' and passive-aggressively leave brochures for_ law schoo_l outside my door, and oh God, Hori, I'm gonna _die_."

"Hold up," he says cautiously. "When exactly is this due?"

Sakura sniffles. "Week after my birthday."

Of course, he should've known.

Hori claps a hand to his forehead, huffing in exasperation. "Sakura, you're overreacting. That's three weeks. In other words, plenty of time."

"But you don't understand, Hori!" she shrieks. "Fuck, I don't even know what I'm doing."

He lets out a derisive snort. "Welcome to college."

* * *

><p>3:00, backstage.<p>

Clutching the Post-It note, he tentatively creaks open the door to the auditorium. Milling around the stage are about a dozen students, measuring out planks of wood, organizing paints, or labeling pieces of tape. A screw gun whirs noisily in the background, everyone shouting to be overheard over the din.

Kashima's sitting at the very edge, kicking her legs back and forth and chatting genially with a senior girl. When she notices him, she immediately waves him over, her eyes lighting up. "Senpai, you made it!"

He does his best to hide his flush. "Um, yeah."

Kashima turns to the girl next to her. "Mitsu-chan, meet Hori-senpai. Senpai, meet Mitsu-chan!"

"Hanako Mitsuzuri." She grins at him, holding out a calloused palm. Mitsuzuri's tall and tanned, long brown hair braided down her back; she smells vaguely of wood shavings and the fruity perfume he'd once bought Sakura for her fifteenth birthday. "Fresh meat, huh? Well, we're glad to have you!"

"Mitsu-chan's the stage manager!" Kashima pipes up. "She's been running stage crew for the past two years, and she's just amazing!"

"Oh, stop it, Yuu. You're making me blush," Mitsuzuri laughs, batting her playfully on the arm. "Well, Hori? Got anything in mind?"

"Not particularly. Wherever I'm useful, I suppose," he replies.

"I'll give you the grand tour, then!" She loops her arm around his and marches him onto the stage, Kashima trailing behind them. "Here we do the dirty work- cutting, screwing, set-building, the works. Pretty much everyone's gotta pitch in a bit, but besides that, there are tons of specialized jobs. Light and sound op are holed up in that little booth up there, talking about fresnels and mics or whatever. Costume and props are probably hiding away somewhere; our little prince has to go over there to get fitted in a little while." Mitsuzuri throws a pointed look at Kashima, who makes a face. "And of course, there's the running crew. They're the people who man the curtains and push the sets around and manage the props come show time.

"And, might I add, " she adds wryly, lips curling into a smirk, "spend the most time with our actors. Kind of the most crucial part of operations."

Hori wonders how he wound up here. Just three years ago, he'd been a high schooler with just a couple secondary roles under his belt, writing his Oscar acceptance speech in the margins of his chem notebook and dreaming of the big break that would never come.

But now, he's a reject.

Is this quitting? Is this giving up?

But in the end, he decides, that's probably not the most important thing.

"That sounds fine," Hori manages.

"Running crew, it is." Mitsuzuri beams, clapping him on the shoulder. "Welcome to the team!"

* * *

><p>"Was it at least tolerable?" Sakura asks, en route to their club meeting.<p>

Hori shrugs. "It's really not that bad. The stage manager girl is pretty nice, and I don't know, it's just...comfortable. Everyone's just fooling around, really. You'd be surprised about how many dirty jokes they can make about screw guns."

He notices her giggling behind her hand, and scowls at her. "What's so funny?"

"Oh, nothing, nothing! It's just that...it's been a while since I've seen you enjoy something so much," Sakura says fondly.

"Don't be ridiculous," Hori grumbles.

"It's a good thing, I swear!" she protests. "Kashima isn't bad as you first thought she was, huh?"

"Yeah, she's alright," he says, trying to sound as flippant as possible. From the way she quirks her eyebrow, however, he doubts she's fallen for it.

Sakura smirks, poking him on the shoulder. "Told ya so."

Hori rolls his eyes, shoving her away. "What are you, a fifth-grader?" Blocking out her snickers, he holds his head up high and marches primly into the classroom, depositing his bag in his usual seat.

Mikoshiba's already inside, rifling through his manga as usual, and Seo's slouching in the corner, glowering at anyone who dares to give her more than a passing glance.

Kashima tumbles in soon afterwards, rosy pink and pleasantly windswept, and makes a beeline for him. Determinedly ignoring Sakura, who's giggling and slinking away from him, he gives her a nonchalant wave, resting his elbows against the table. "Hey. What's up?"

"Hi," she says breathlessly. "Mind dropping by my place later? We're doing a really hard scene, and I could really use your-"

"So glad to see you all getting along!" Miyako chirps, poking her head into the classroom. She steps inside and glances at her watch. "The others should be here in a moment. Just wait till you hear the activity I've planned for today!"

_Lord help me_, Hori thinks.

Nozaki shuffles in barely ten seconds later, aloof, and Sakura immediately flushes pink, squeaking out a barely audible hello. Wakamatsu anxiously teeters in just moments later, scooting to the very edge of his seat.

"Excellent, we're all here!" Miyako claps her hands together. "So, now that you and your partners have gotten to know each other a little, I thought that we'd try out some trust falls, really push it to the next level. How does that sound?"

_Great. Just fucking great._

Sakura whimpers, burying her face in her hands. The sound of chairs scraping against the tiled floor fills the air as everyone grudgingly eases to their feet, grumbling under their breaths. Mikoshiba looks utterly petrified when Miyako smiles encouragingly and beckons him over, while Wakamatsu only looks horrified.

"How the fuck is he supposed to catch you?" Hori hisses, gesturing at Nozaki. "He's practically twice your size!"

"This may or may not be the greatest day of my life," she whispers, trembling. "So romantic!"

He smacks a hand to his forehead. "Forget it. You're a lost cause."

"Well, shall we get started?" Kashima says brightly, leaning against the table. "You first?"

"Let's just get this over with." Hori heaves a sigh, turning his back to her. He imagines her palms outstretched, feels the nothingness between them. Trust's always been difficult for him; he can practically feel the swooping of his chest and the thunk of his head against the floor, the crunch of bone.

_Calm down, _he orders himself._ It's just a fall, remember?_

_She'll catch me._

But how can he be so confident in that, like he_ knows _her?

"Don't be scared, okay?" she murmurs. "I've got you. I've got you."

"Everyone ready?" Miyako asks. "On your mark, get set, fall!"

Hori takes a deep breath and wills himself to fall. Panic floods his system as he tips farther and farther back, gripping his slacks so tightly his knuckles turn white, and _oh God, this was a bad, bad idea-_

Then everything stops, and there are two hands resting against his back and a warm weight behind him.

"Told you I'd catch you," she says wryly, her breath tickling his neck, "my _princess_."

He utterly fails to stop the heat from rising to his face, shoving her off of him and scrambling to his feet. "Never call me that again."

Kashima giggles. "Oh, you're just too _cute_."

Hori can't even dignify that with a response. He forces himself to redirect his attention to Sakura, who seems to be melting right into Nozaki's beefy arms, and Mikoshiba, who looks like he's on the verge of cardiac arrest.

"Everyone finished? Okay, switch!" Miyako shouts to be heard over the din.

Kashima winks at him. "Don't drop me, 'kay?"

He snorts, readying his hands. "Wouldn't dream of it."

"Hey, hey, Nozaki-kun!" Sakura cries out. "Hold on, just give me a-"

Oblivious, Nozaki falls backwards, and she yelps, leaping away to avoid him as he comes crashing down, toppling over a nearby chair and careening closer and closer until all Hori can see is a shadow looming over him before-

_Crunch._

_Well, fuck, _he thinks, before passing out.

* * *

><p>When Hori wakes up, there's a stickiness on his tongue and a dull ache in his head, and for some odd reason, he's laying in a hospital bed, cushioned by pillows and wearing an itchy blue gown.<p>

_Wait, hospital?_

Only then does it hit him.

_Oh, right. Nozaki falling, excruciating pain. Yep._

"Oh, thank God you're awake," he hears someone sigh. "Took you long enough, Sleeping Beauty."

He turns to his side, nearly jumping out of his skin when he sees it's Kashima, hair disheveled and script propped in her lap, sitting on a stool besides him, looking so relieved he isn't sure how to react.

"What is it?" Hori manages to croak.

"Rib fracture," she tells him. "It's nothing major, but you're gonna have to stay here the night. Should heal up in a few weeks, according to the doctor. You're on a ton of painkillers, though."

"Just fucking great." He groans, before pausing. "Wait, what are you doing here?"

Kashima shrugs. "Someone's gotta look after you, right?"

"But Sakura-"

"She stayed with you a couple hours, but she had to leave for class, so I took over," Kashima says. "Wanna call her? She's super worried, you know."

"No, no, it's fine. I can do that later," Hori says hurriedly. "But really, you didn't have to. Don't you have rehearsal to go to or whatever?"

"Oh, it's nothing. I can skip every once in a while, right?" she laughs, waving a dismissive hand. "Celebrity privileges and all."

"But you're the _lead_." He gapes at her, incredulous.

"And you're my_ friend_," she counters. "It's nothing, honest. I'm your angel, right?"

_Friend. Angel._

They may as well be words from another language.

"I guess." Hori leans back into his pillow, gazes up glumly at the immaculate white ceiling. "Hey, how long was I out?"

"About four hours," she says, tilting her head to the side. "Why?"

"Four hours?" he gasps, snatching her wrist and pulling it towards him, eyes hungrily searching the face of her watch. "No way, 7:45? Shit, shit, I'm gonna be late for my shift!" He tries to sit up, but Kashima's on him before long, pinning his arms to either side of the bed.

"No getting up for you. Doctor's orders, remember?" she chastises him.

"Fuck him!" Hori hisses, batting at her arms. "I have to go!"

Kashima raises an eyebrow at him. "What's the big deal? It's just a shift, right? You can miss one every once in a-"

"I'm about to get evicted, okay?" he finally spits out.

She freezes. "...what?"

"I've been behind on rent for the past three months, and if I don't get caught up soon, it's over for me," he says. "Why else you do you think I've been taking all those extra shifts? For fun?" When she doesn't respond, he shoves her arms off of him and swings his legs to one side of the bed. "Now, if you'll excuse me, I'll-"

Searing pain erupts in his left side, and he grunts, falling back onto the bed and clutching at his chest. "Fuck, fuck, _fuck._"

"Crap, the painkillers are wearing off. I'll go get the doctor." Kashima leaps to her feet and walks briskly to the door, hesitating just before she leaves. "And...don't worry about your apartment. I think I have an idea."

* * *

><p>"Oh my God, are you okay?" Sakura blubbers into the phone, panicked. "Does it still hurt? Are you on medication?"<p>

"Yes, yes, and yes," Hori says. "Calm down, Sakura. Really, it's fine."

"No, no, it's not!" she frets, a note of hysteria entering her voice. "It's all my fault- if I hadn't jumped away he wouldn't have-"

He rolls his eyes. "Give me a break. He would've flattened you like a fucking pancake, _munchkin_."

"Would not!"

"Would too!"

"Okay, okay, fine, we sound like five-year-olds," Sakura laughs. "But seriously. We were all super worried, you know! Kashima, especially. God, you should have seen her. White as a sheet. I think she was trying to keep her cool, but deep down, she was even more scared than I was. And that's saying something."

"Yeah, I can imagine."

"You're not mad, are you?" she says tentatively.

Hori frowns. "Where did _that_ come from?"

"You know, since I left and everything." He can practically see her wringing out her hands, forehead crinkled, eyes as wide as saucers. "You were lying there unconscious, and I was worried about my goddamn _art project. _God, how shitty am I? And I'm supposed to be your best friend."

"Don't worry about it," he tries to reassure her. "I would've done the same thing."

"No, you wouldn't! I know you, Hori. Remember high school? Remember what you did back then?" Her voice hardens. "Because that is not what happened when I-"

"We don't talk about that." He stiffens, his throat constricting.

"Well, someday we're gonna have to fucking talk about it! You think this isn't hard for me too?" she hisses. "Of course, classic Masayuki Hori. Always running away, never listening. Well, grow the fuck up!"

"Stop," he says thickly. "Stop. I don't want to fight. Not today."

They lapse into tense silence.

"I'm sorry," she says quietly. "That was a shitty thing to say."

"Yeah," he mumbles.

"I love you. Oh God, I love you," Sakura sobs.

"Me too." Hori cradles the phone in his arms, pictures tears rolling down her cheeks, red-rimmed eyes and her fingers splayed across the warmth of her phone screen.

"Kashima's a really good person, you know," she blurts. "Take care of her, okay?"

He nods, and even though she can't possibly seen him, he knows she knows, just like she always has.

"Sleep tight," she chokes out, before hanging up.

* * *

><p>Hori's hobbling out of the hospital the next day at about noon, full of bland rice porridge and prescription painkillers, when his phone pings with a text. It's from Sakura, of course, with three happy cat emojis. <em>discharged yet?<em>

_yeah, just now, _he texts back.

His phone blares obnoxiously loudly, and he hurries to pick it up. "Hey, what's up?"

"Oh, nothing," she says, much too quickly. "Anyways, are you on your way home now?"

He glances at the time on his phone. "Um, no. Don't we have a shift about now?"

"Didn't you hear? Boss gave us the day off," she shoots back, impatient.

Hori gapes at the screen. "What, no way!"

"Yes way. Are you coming or not? I'm already here."

"Wait, you're inside my _apartment_?"

Cue the delicate pause. "...maybe."

He smacks a hand to his forehead. "Sakura! How did you even get in?"

"Isn't it obvious? Spare key under the doormat."

"How do you even know about that?"

She pauses. "I have my ways."

"Unbelievable," he huffs under his breath. "Should I be worried?"

"Not particularly," Sakura replies offhandedly. "Just get your ass over here before I drag you back myself."

"Okay, okay, I'm coming," Hori grumbles, pressing the end-call button. "_Women._"

* * *

><p>A fifteen minute walk, and he's back at the dingy apartment he's never thought of as home. Genuinely terrified, he takes a moment to steel himself before knocking on the door. "Sakura, you in there?"<p>

When he's met with silence, he only sighs, kicking open the door. "Well, I'm coming-"

"Surprise!" Sakura shouts, blowing a confetti cannon in his face.

Hori can only gape as the colorful little pieces of paper land in his hair. "What in the world…?"

Everyone in the club is standing in his kitchen, bedecked in flimsy party hats and brandishing party poppers. The living room's been completely transformed, balloons tied to the armrests of his couch, streamers and paper lanterns and a sign reading "Welcome Back!" in block letters sloppily taped to the wall.

Sakura bounds up to him and tackles him to the floor in a bear hug. "Took you long enough, dummy!"

Hori grunts. "Fractured rib, remember?"

"Oh, right, sorry," she says sheepishly, crawling off of him. "Anyways, what do you think?"

"It's...um, wow. I don't know what to say. I mean, it was just one night," he confesses. "Thanks, Sakura."

She cocks her head to the side. "What are you thanking me for? It was all Kashima's idea!"

"Kashima?" He peeks into the kitchen, feels the breath catch in his throat when he sees her laughing with everyone else, her eyes lighting up when they land on him.

"She's been up all night baking, just for this. She really is amazing, you know. All of this just for an idiot like you!" Sakura shakes her head, heaving a sigh. "Geez, why does she even bother?"

Hori swats at her playfully, and she grins, ducking out from under his arm.

"Hey, play nice," she laughs, easing to her feet and holding out her hand to him. "Care to catch up with your guests?"

"Um, yeah, sure," he says, lets her pull him back to his feet.

"Hey, relax," Sakura says wryly, leaning in to whisper, "you'll get to see your darling Kashima in no time." Smirking, she tugs him over to everyone else, leaning over to a nearby cooler and shoving a ginger ale into his hands.

"No beer?"

"Don't be stingy."

He sighs, popping it open, and steps into the kitchen, where everyone's milling around, snacking on little brownies and cupcakes and making idle conversation. Everyone falls to a hush when he walks in.

Miyako rushes up to him first, grasping both of his hands in hers. "Oh, Hori, you gave us such a fright! We're so glad you're alright."

"Ah, the royal 'we'," Seo grumbles, to no one in particular.

Fortunately for him, everyone chooses to ignore her.

"Oh, it wasn't a big deal," he mumbles.

"Don't say that!" Wakamatsu blurts- the first complete sentence he's ever spoken to Hori. "I was totally petrified!"

"Yeah, like always," Seo deadpans, causing him to blush, fisting his hands in his sweater.

"Of course," Mikoshiba pipes up, surprising everyone, "if I'd been there to treat him, he would've been cured instantly with _my dazzling smile._" Before anyone even has the chance to send him a bewildered look, he's already retreated back into his corner, red as a tomato and mumbling incoherently under his breath.

"Um, speaking of that, Nozaki-kun has something for you!" Miyako says hurriedly, managing a disarming smile.

Sakura smiles, giving him a nudge in the ribs. Obediently shuffling forward, Nozaki hands him a slip of paper. Upon closer inspection, it reads "Free Manga" in his trademark scrawl- completely underwhelming, Hori thinks.

"I take requests," Nozaki adds.

"Um, thanks," Hori manages, pocketing the paper.

She elbows him again, and he clears his throat. "I apologize for crushing you," he says solemnly, before abruptly falling to his knees, banging his fists against the floor in despair. "If only I'd been born a slender bishounen!"

Sakura looks as though she'd like nothing more than to evaporate on the spot.

"I know he means well," he says quickly.

Kashima shoves her way to the front of the crowd, grinning from ear to ear. "Hey, are you guys just gonna steal him away from me?" She and Sakura seem to come to some sort of understanding entirely through eye contact, and before long, she's pulling him out of the room and to the space just in front of his bedroom. "I have something to show you," she explains when he shoots her a puzzled look.

Reaching into her pocket, she pulls out a halved piece of paper. _Eviction Notice_, it reads.

He can only gaze in awe. "Is this-?"

She nods. "Your rent's covered till next month."

He shakes his head adamantly, shoving it back into her hands. "Kashima, you know I can't accept this. I won't be able to-"

Kashima closes his palm back over it. "Too late. It's already been paid."

"Unbelievable," he huffs for the second time that day. "Fucking unbelievable. Why would you do this for me?"

"Haven't I already said? It's 'cause I care, senpai." She gives his hand a squeeze, smiling sadly. "And besides, you can just pay me back when you're a world-famous actor. Think of it as an investment."

"You are such an_ idiot_," he mumbles. "Just when I thought you couldn't get any dumber."

"Looks like I proved you wrong." She grins, holding out her hand to shake. "Well, senpai?"

Hori ignores her hand, wrapping his arms around her and pulling her close. "Thank you," he breathes. She stiffens at first, but soon relaxes, hugging him back.

"Think we can stay like this a little while?" he asks, muffled in her shoulder.

"Of course," she murmurs. "Always."


	5. Chapter 5

Hori steps into the auditorium, met with the usual buzz of conversation and the grate of saw on wood. Mitsuzuri's sitting on her usual perch on the edge of the stage, this time with a different girl. She's petite, her heart-shaped face framed by wavy blonde hair, with high cheekbones and dimples and maybe the whitest teeth he's ever seen.

Mitsuzuri waves him towards her, and he jogs over, giving her a high-five. "Hey, what's up?"

"Oh, I know you!" the girl gasps. "You're Masayuki Hori, aren't you?"

He blinks, praying to God he doesn't look like a total moron. "Um, I don't think I know you?"

Mitsuzuri clucks her tongue, shaking her head disapprovingly. "Ah, silly me. Should've thought to introduce you to the others earlier." She clears her throat, grandly gesturing to the girl. "Hori, this is Rena Michimiya. She'll be playing Juliet."

Hori can only gape.

And no, he is_ not _starstruck, thank you very much.

Mitsuzuri claps him on the shoulder, smiling breezily. "Well, play nice, you two. Things to do, people to see." Before he can protest, she flounces away to greet someone else, leaving him with a very popular, very pretty senior that's a gazillion miles out of his league.

Michimiya turns back to him, laughing apologetically. "Sorry, that was a little creepy. I just remembered seeing your audition way back when! You were amazing, by the way. Seriously impressive stuff. I can't imagine why they didn't cast you!"

"Ah, well, I'm not much of a Prince Charming," Hori says sheepishly, running his fingers through his hair.

"Well, that's always been more of Kashima's thing," she laughs. "But you already knew that, right?"

"Ugh, tell me about it," he groans.

Michimiya giggles. "You guys seem close."

Hori wrinkles his nose. "Eh, not really."

She gives him a dubious look. "You've gotta be kidding me. You're the only thing she ever talks about! It's always Hori this, Hori that. Seriously, I think I know your entire family history by now." Her lips curl into a smirk. "You know, something tells me she'd rather be kissing you than me."

"Yeah, right." Hori scoffs. He hesitates. "But can you really just...do it? Without feeling anything?"

"What, kissing? That's a silly question." She reaches a hand up to push his hair back, letting the back of her palm graze his cheek. He shivers at her touch. "I could kiss _you _if I really had to. People make such a big deal out of it, like it's a huge romantic thing, some sort of permanent bond, but really, it's just as easy as breathing."

"Think she feels the same way?"

"She's an actor, isn't she?" Michimiya says with a grim smile, pulling away. "We both know it's just pretend. Nothing more, nothing less. We're just reading from a script, right? It's not like we actually, you know, _feel _anything."

Mitsuzuri seems to materialize out of thin air, slinging her arm around his shoulder. "You better not be corrupting him, Rena," she says, light and conversational. Even so, she's narrowing her eyes, her forehead crinkling in concern.

Michimiya smirks again, flipping her hair. "Wouldn't dream of it, _Mitsu-chan_."

"Whatever. Get your mic adjusted, and we're ready to rock." Mitsuzuri rolls her eyes, keeping a steady hand at the nape of his neck as she steers him backstage. Once they're out of earshot, she whips around to face him. "Take it from me, Hori- don't get too cozy with her. Rena has a reputation for...playing with people. A heartbreaker, I guess you could say. That girl's slept with at least half of the campus, not to mention she's-"

"Way out of my league," he finishes wearily. "I'm not stupid, senpai."

"Good boy." Mitsuzuri ruffles his hair, grinning in...is that relief on her face? "We'll be working with the actors today. You know, run a few scenes, block a bit, help them get used to the sets."

When he only nods curtly in reply, Mitsuzuri huffs, cuffing him on the shoulder. "Well, aren't you a charmer? Do yourself a favor, and lighten up already. You could stand to take a cue from Yuu, you know." She glances over at her shoulder, yelling at her stagehands, "Alright, guys, get the castle! The prince'll be here in just a sec, so chop-chop!"

"Of course,_ your majesty_," a boy grumbles.

"Call me that again, and I'll break your jaw," she says pleasantly enough, tearing open a pack of gum with unnecessary vigor. "_Freshmen_. They don't compensate nearly enough to put up with the smarmy little fuckers."

They start wheeling the castle out, and when Hori moves to join them, Mitsuzuri puts a hand on his forearm. "Wait. I want to talk to you about something."

Kashima joins Michimiya on the stage, leaning forward to kiss her hand. Michimiya giggles, blushing, and lets Kashima guide her to the castle, hips swishing and hair glinting in the lights. They climb up together, Kashima clinging onto the ladder, Michimiya peering over the edge of the balcony, and the director signals for them to begin.

"Wilt thou be gone? it is not yet near day: it was the nightingale, and not the lark, that pierced the fearful hollow of thine ear; nightly she sings on yon pomegranate-tree: believe me, love, it was the nightingale," Michimiya implores, desperately clutching at Kashima's hands.

Hori can't help but feel a stab of jealousy; she's absolutely brilliant, exactly what he'll never be.

Kashima shakes her head insistently. "It was the lark, the herald of the morn, no nightingale: look, love, what envious streaks do lace the severing clouds in yonder east: night's candles are burnt out, and jocund day stands tiptoe on the misty mountain tops. I must be gone and live, or stay and die."

"Hey," Mitsuzuri says abruptly, her eyes locked on Mitsuzuri. "Does it ever hurt, being so close to talent? Knowing you'll never reach it?"

"Yeah," Hori breathes.

"Yon light is not day-light, I know it, I: it is some meteor that the sun exhales, to be to thee this night a torch-bearer, and light thee on thy way to Mantua: therefore stay yet; thou need'st not to be gone," Michimiya pleads.

"Me too. Watching them, even after so long...well, I still get starstruck. It makes me wonder, sometimes. Why do we torture ourselves?" Mitsuzuri says quietly. "I was an actor, too, back in high school, before my teacher told me I was just wasting my time. That I'd never compare to true talent. That just about flushed my love for acting down the toilet. But you know, I could never bring myself to get angry about it, because yeah, he was right. I'm ordinary. I'm nothing special. If that's what got me here...maybe it isn't so bad. Maybe this was meant to be."

They turn back to the stage.

Kashima turns to the sea of empty seats. "I have more care to stay than will to go: come, death, and welcome! Juliet wills it so. How is't, my soul? let's talk; it is not day." Hori mouths along to her lines.

Mitsuzuri bites her lip, like it's physically paining for her to speak. "For the longest time, I wondered why those so-called geniuses ever really bothered with me. I mean, it's not like I actually ever meant something to them, right? Did they just keep me around out of pity, biding their time until I broke?

"But lately, I've been thinking...maybe they need people like us. Maybe they need ordinary people like you and me to feel extraordinary."

"It is, it is: hie hence, be gone, away! It is the lark that sings so out of tune, straining harsh discords and unpleasing sharps. Some say the lark makes sweet division; this doth not so, for she divideth us: some say the lark and loathed toad change eyes, o, now I would they had changed voices too!" Michimiya cries, pressing Kashima's hand to her heart. "Since arm from arm that voice doth us affray, hunting thee hence with hunt's-up to the day, o, now be gone; more light and light it grows."

"More light and light; more dark and dark our woes!" Kashima mourns, leaning forward to kiss her knuckles.

"They draw us in, don't they?" Mitsuzuri whispers. "You know you should stay away, know it's only trouble, but in the end, you really can't help it."

He thinks about how beautiful Kashima is, hair caught in the glare of the overhead lights, lips glossy and eyes shining. How much he wants to open up her mind and unspool her thoughts, figure out if she's just unfeeling as Michimiya claims her to be.

"I think you might be right," Hori says softly.

* * *

><p>"Why does coming up with a decent idea have to be so fucking hard?" Sakura moans, throwing her sketchpad to the floor. It's littered with messy sketches, most of which have been violently crossed out.<p>

"Congratulations. Now we can be washed-out together," Hori says from his spot curled up on his rug, adding a note to the margins of his textbook.

"Hori! This is _serious_," she whines, glowering at him. "It's literally due in less than two weeks."

"Just wait for the inspiration to hit you. I recommend taking a cold shower. Really wakes up the brain cells, you know." He turns the page, covering his mouth as he yawns. "God, could this _be_ any more boring?"

"You know what? Fuck this." Sakura flings the blanket off and leaps to her feet, dusting her pants off.

"Just where do you think you're going?" Hori raises an eyebrow.

She shrugs on her coat, buttoning it at lightning speed. "What does it look like? I'm getting some fresh air."

Only then does it dawn on him.

"You know, you're looking a little pale," he says casually.

"Am I?" she says, innocuously enough, lacing up her boots, but he knows better.

"Sakura, when was the last time you ate?"

Hesitation flickers across her face, but she's smart enough to know his games. She recovers in a heartbeat, managing a disarming smile that's surprisingly convincing; it might have worked on a lesser man. "Oh, no need to worry about me! Just worry about yourself. How's your rib feeling? Have you been taking your painkillers?"

"Answer the fucking question."

"Okay, okay." Sakura braces her hand in surrender. "This morning."

He narrows his eyes at her. "Don't lie to me."

She stomps a foot on the ground, on the defensive. "I'm not lying!"

"_Sakura_." He holds her gaze, refusing to let go.

"Okay,_ fine_. It was last night." Sakura puffs out her cheeks when he sits up, his books crashing to the floor. "I know, it sounds bad. It's just...I'm really stressed now, and it's a little hard to remember to...you know. It won't come to that, I promise. I've moved on."

Hori heaves a sigh, giving a minimal shake of his head. "When you get back, I am forcefeeding you Chinese takeout," he threatens.

Sakura manages a brittle laugh. "Alright, that's taking it a little too far. I'll pick something up when I'm out, okay?"

Hori solemnly holds his pinky out, and she sighs, reluctantly raising hers.

"Great," she says, stubborn as ever. "Can I go now?"

Eventually, he gives a terse nod. She smiles gratefully, slinging her purse over her shoulder, and then she's off, leaving only the traces of her sugar perfume laced through his couch cushions.

_You're overreacting, okay?_

Hori buries his face in his hands. "Jesus fucking Christ."

* * *

><p>Hori's practically snoring over his books at 2 AM when his phone starts blaring, jerking him out of a pleasant daydream. <em>Kashima<em>, caller ID reads, and against his better judgment, he slams his fingers on the little green button. "For fuck's sake, Kashima," he croaks, "do you know what time it is?"

"Go on an adventure with me," she says breathlessly.

He grunts, smacking a hand to his forehead. "Do you even know what you're saying?"

"Just say yes!"

"Why did you even call me if you were just gonna make me do it anyways?" he grumbles. "And besides, can't this wait?"

"But that's the beauty of it! We're college students, senpai- don't you think we can stand to live a little? Have a midnight adventure?"

"It sounds awfully cliché," he says dubiously.

"Exactly! It's like, I don't know, textbook rom-com. So basically, it's perfect!" she insists. "Please, Hori. Just for me."

"Find someone else to bother. I'm busy," Hori snaps, just about ready to hang up, because honestly, does she ever know when to give up? Fucking Kashima, thinking she could just barge in like that and he'd blindly follow, play games with him like he's wrapped around her little finger.

Always taking, taking, taking, and never giving.

"But it's too late for that!" she protests.

"And why would that be?"

"'Cause I'm already outside."

Hori jumps to his feet and runs to his window, shoving the flimsy curtains to the side. "Oh my fucking God," he says incredulously, because standing just outside his apartment is none other than Yuu Kashima, wrapped up in a blue peacoat and waving jovially up at him from the pavement.

"So, are you in?"

He fucking detests the triumph in her voice.

"You are _insufferable_," he spits out.

"Is that a yes?"

Hori heaves a sigh. "Be there in five."

* * *

><p>He hopes that she'll be gone by the time he's ready, but to no avail. When he steps outside and quietly closes the door behind him, she's there beaming at him, pink-faced from the numbing cold. "Gee, I thought you were gonna keep me waiting all night!"<p>

"Didn't your mother ever teach you to be patient?" he says with a scowl.

_Oh. Shit._

Kashima glances away, buries her mouth in her scarf. "Not really, no."

"Um, yeah. Neither did mine." Hori shakes his head, still flustered. "So, where to?"

"So glad you asked!" Her eyes light up. "The park, maybe?"

"Um, okay. Let's go."

She laces her arm through his and tugs him down the street, moving so fast that she's pretty dragging his lifeless body across the asphalt. "Come on, senpai, look alive! Isn't it beautiful out here?"

"More like fucking freezing," he mumbles.

"Come, gentle night, come, loving, black-brow'd night, give me my Romeo; and, when he shall die, take him and cut him out in little stars, and he will make the face of heaven so fine that all the world will be in love with night and pay no worship to the garish sun," she whispers, reaching a mittened hand up towards the sky, a faraway look in her eyes.

He hates that, too, the feeling that she'll slip away if he isn't careful.

Hori quirks an eyebrow at her. "Who's the Juliet now?"

She laughs. 'It's nice to change things up every once in a while, right?"

"Huh."

Humming to herself, Kashima gazes back up at the sky. "God, I love it here. You can see the stars and everything!" she muses. "I couldn't do that in the city."

"Too much light pollution?" he supplies.

"Yeah, too much light pollution, too much noise." Her head bobs up and down, a slow and methodical rhythm. "But here it's just so...quiet."

"Must be boring for you," Hori remarks.

She shakes her head, her eyes widening. "No, not at all. I love it here."

Hori glances at the grubby deli he's been eating at for the past three years, the abandoned real estate agency with the grimy blinds and cracked glass, the dilapidated bar still strung with sputtering white lights leftover from Christmas. "It's just a sleepy college town. What's so special about it?"

"It's not as hard as it seems," Kashima says.

"What? Being stupidly optimistic?"

"No, not exactly, though that's a good way of putting it," she laughs good-naturedly, the corner of her eyes crinkling. "More like, I don't know, seeing the silver lining in things."

"Well, aren't you a bag of clichés tonight?" he quips.

"I know, I know. Bear with me, okay?" She nudges him playfully in the ribs, close enough to smell the traces of mint toothpaste in her breath, feel the tendrils of her soft, soft hair brush against his face. "I'm just saying, anything can be beautiful if you look hard enough."

They lapse into comfortable silence.

"Ah, here we are," Kashima says, gazing fondly at the little square of yellowed grass, the winding gravel path, the decrepit stack of gaudy plastic that only the most generous soul would call a playground. Grinning from ear to ear, she vaults over the wrought-iron gate without so much as a heartbeat of hesitation.

Landing on all fours, she glances back and cocks her head to the side. "What are you waiting for, senpai?"

_God, she's athletic, too?_

Tentatively, Hori clumsily clambers over the rusted metal, swinging his legs over one by one. Sliding off, he glances warily at their surroundings, his gaze lingering on a patch of spindly trees. "Are you positive we won't get in trouble for this?"

"Of course not!" Kashima declares. "And besides, what for? We're champions of the human spirit! No one can stop us now!" Grabbing his hand, she drags him towards the playground. "Ooh, doesn't that look fun? I almost feel like a kid again!"

"Not that you needed help," he grumbles, viscerally aware of her fingers wrapped tightly around his, every hair standing up at the back of his neck.

_Stop it_, Hori tries to tell himself. _You're not some lovesick middle schooler, remember?_

Pretending not to hear him, Kashima tugs him to the swing set, plopping on one of the seats, tugging at the chain in awe. "Hey, senpai, remember these? God, you should have seen my elementary school; the swing set was an absolute _warzone_. Like, kicking and screaming and everything. I gave my school counselor a black eye when she tried to make me give it up once."

He reluctantly eases himself down on one of the seats, dragging his feet through the wood chips. "Is that something you're supposed to be proud of?"

Kashima gives him her best shit-eating grin, rubbing her knuckles. "Hey, my bruises were _battlescars_."

Hori edges away from her. "You're absolutely terrifying."

"I know. My mom thought so, too."

Cue the awkward pause.

"Say, senpai...tell me about your first kiss."

Hori blanches. "Where did _that_ come from?"

She smiles impishly. "Just curious."

He glances away. "Not a chance."

"Come on, senpai! I'll tell you if you do," she wheedles, poking him on the shoulder. "_Please._"

That magic word again.

"Okay, fine," he concedes wearily, thinking hard. "God, where to begin? Okay, okay. So, back when my parents thought I genuinely wanted to be a doctor, they sent me to some sort of nerd summer camp at this college. Biomedical science and shit. Horribly boring. Anyways, there was this girl who'd sit next to me, and I just couldn't figure out why. I mean, she was way out of my league. Two years older, really pretty, really into makeup and Gucci purses. You know, that kind of girl."

"The dumb blonde?" she offers.

Hori vehemently shakes his head. "Oh no, this girl was a million times smarter than I was, and she knew it, too. I thought she was hanging out with me for a dare or whatever, so that's what I wrote it off as. Until the dance, at least. So basically, a bunch of sweaty teenagers gyrating to Kesha."

She wrinkles her nose. "Ew."

"Yeah, ew is right," he agrees. "Of course, awkward fifteen-year-old me was hiding in the corner, playing poker with the geeks and hoping desperately to disappear. Somehow, she found me and tugged me somewhere we wouldn't be seen, told me she had something important to tell me. Soon enough, we were making out behind the bleachers."

"And what happened after that?" Kashima's practically on the edge of her seat, knee bobbing up and down. It's endearing, really.

He gives her a crooked smile. "She dumped me the last day. Said I couldn't kiss for shit. I can't blame her, honestly."

"Do you regret it?"

"Nah, not really. I try not to let summer flings from six years ago bother me too much." Hori shrugs, before cuffing her on the shoulder. "So, what about you? We had a deal, remember?"

She hesitates, saying slowly, "It's not as good of a story as yours, but...I was thirteen. She was fourteen. I was the prince. She was the princess."

Hori gapes at her. "Your first kiss was in a play? God, how unromantic is that?"

"Hey, she was an excellent kisser!" Kashima protests.

"Play kisses don't count," he declares.

"Then I got nothing," she admits, shrugging. "I've never kissed anyone outside of acting."

"I guess that isn't unheard of," Hori concedes, shaking his head. "At least you've never gotten your heart broken."

Kashima exhales. "I wish I did. I don't know, kissing in a play...it's weird, not knowing what it's supposed to feel like. I asked Michimiya-senpai, and she told me not to worry about it, that it's not important. I mean, I know it isn't, but I can't help it, you know?" She glances slyly at him, puckering her lips. "Maybe you could teach me?"

He shoves her away, stifling a snicker. "Don't push your luck."

* * *

><p>On the way back to to his apartment, Kashima suddenly touches his shoulder, coming to a crashing halt. Her fingers twitch and nestle back into her pockets, and it's all just so disturbing, the way all of the energy seeps out of her, how tired she looks all of a sudden.<p>

"Hey, what's wrong?" he asks.

"I'm sorry," she mumbles.

"It's a little late for that, don't you think?" Hori says, achingly gentle, taking her hand back in his, giving it a comforting squeeze. "Really, don't worry about it. Let's just go home."

"No, not about _that_," Kashima says, stubborn, pulling her hand out of his. "I lied. About the reason why we came out here tonight."

"So, the rom-com adventure was just a-"

"A big, fat, rotten lie," she says scathingly. "I really am pathetic."

"_Hey._ Don't say that." He grabs her hand back, gripping it insistently. "Tell me what's wrong."

Eventually, Kashima exhales shakily, reaching into her pocket to pull out an envelope and stuffing into his hands. She steps away immediately, fidgeting. "_This_ is the reason why I dragged you out here.

_Junichi Nakajima_, it reads in her messy scrawl.

"Selfish, right?"

Hori glances up. "This is-"

"A letter to my dad," Kashima blurts. "The final show's in a couple weeks, and I thought he'd maybe want to come. I don't know, act like a father for once. I've tried to reach him through email before, but he never responded, and well, he always said he was a believer in the lost art of letter writing or whatever, so I thought I'd give it a shot, just as a last resort, you know? Maybe he'll listen to me this way.

"I know it's naive of me, but...yeah. Stupidly optimistic, just like you said." She manages a feeble smile. "Even if it doesn't work out...well, at least I tried, right? I can live with myself knowing I did that much."

"But why bring me?"

Kashima takes a deep breath. "I don't know. Just when I was writing it...I wanted to see you. Because when I got to the mailbox, I knew I wouldn't be able to do it myself." She laughs humorlessly. "God, I really am the most pathetic person on earth. I'm a coward."

"You're not."

"How can you be so sure?"

"I just am."

"But what if that's not enough?"

"It will be."

"But what if-?"

He shushes her. "You're killing the moment. Are we delivering it or what?"

Kashima falters, clutching the letter to her chest. "_Thank you._"

Hori snorts, barely repressing his smile. "Don't be stupid."


	6. Chapter 6

"Happy birthday to me!" Sakura cheers, flopping onto her couch. "And you know what that means!"

"Time to get fucking wasted," Hori finishes, collapsing next to her.

Her apartment's a complete mess- paintbrushes and pencils strewn across the dusty carpet, coffee mugs piling in the sink, drawers left open and bed unmade, air filled with the stench of week-old Chinese take-out. It's such a jarring departure from fastidious Sakura, who always carries a bottle of coconut-scented hand-sanitizer in her purse and reorganizes her gel pen collection every other day, scrubs her grimy kitchen until the cheap metal _gleams_, that Hori almost wants to shake her awake and demand _why._

But he knows Sakura well enough by now to see her frayed smile and know that that's the last thing she wants.

"Mm-hm. No more stressing about that stupid art project, no worrying about responsibilities, just booze, booze, and more booze." She brightens considerably, popping open the stopper of a bottle filled with neon green liquid- _skittle vodka_, the label reads, a heart dotting the "i." Deceptively harmless and sickeningly sweet, just like Sakura herself.

Hori chortles, accepting a shot glass. "Can't believe my little turtledove is all grown up now." He gulps it down, grimacing a little at the burn of the vodka, the punch of delightfully artificial sweetness. "Happy twentieth, sweetheart."

She hums, refilling her glass. "Honestly? It tasted better when I was a teenager."

"Ah, yes, welcome to the suckiness of adulthood." Hori nods sagely. "So, what's next on the birthday agenda?"

Sakura perks up. "Just Dance and Netflix, of course!"

"God, you are such a dork," he admonishes, almost fondly.

"What? Not all of us want to go clubbing 24/7, you know!" she protests, batting him on the shoulder.

"Geez, it was a joke, Sakura!" Hori laughs, ruffling her hair. "Dancing it is, then! Just warning you, though: I've been practicing. I've built up a pretty mean game, if I do say so for myself."

"Really?" Her lips curl into a little smirk. "Well, give it your best shot. Usual rules, I'm assuming?"

"Yep! Take a drink every time you lose." He rolls up his sleeves, musters up his best shit-eating grin. "You're not gonna be able to see straight by the time I'm finished with you."

"Oh? I'd like to see you try."

Two hours later, he's curled up in a ball on the floor, drunk as he's ever been in his life. Predictably, she'd beaten him every round, just like every other time they had played. His ego is still smarting, for Christ's sake. "You are pure, unadulterated_ evil_," he wheezes, his eyes watering in pain.

Sakura grins at him, crouching down to eye level. "Thanks, Hori. That means so much to me."

"You kneed me in the balls!" he hisses.

She waves a dismissive hand. "All's fair in love and war."

"You know, I really fucking hate you right now," Hori groans. Why won't the room stop _spinning_?

Sakura pouts her lips in mock innocence, tilting her head to the side. "That's not a very nice thing to say. It's my birthday, remember?"

"All too well." Hori heaves a sigh and forces himself into a twisted sitting position with a grunt, still clutching at the couch. Still buzzed, he takes a deep breath, smiling gamely. "So, Mean Girls?"

* * *

><p>Brain fried from both the vodka and the hypnotic glow of the TV screen, Hori laughs drunkenly to himself, pressing his cheek into hand-embroidered pillow and breathing in the smell he'd come to associate with Sakura- Marc Jacobs Lola and watermelon shampoo and homemade chocolate-chip cookies. "So goddamn cheesy, right?"<p>

When she only whimpers in response, he lifts his head up and pauses the movie. "Hey, what's wrong?"

Face buried in the armrest, wrapped up in her favorite quilt, Sakura shakes her head. "I'm _fine_, Hori," she grates out, muffled by the cushions. "Just, you know. Tired. Stressed. Thinking about _him_."

_Oh, fuck, _Hori thinks with a sinking feeling. _Nozaki._

"Okay, sure. What about him?"

"I don't know. Just that guys like him just don't pick girls like me."

Oh God, not this again.

He sighs. "Sakura, you know that's not-"

"But it _is_," she insists. "I'm short. I'm flat-chested. I'm _chubby_."

"You look perfectly fine to me," Hori says, and it's the honest-to-God truth.

"Yeah, but...you're my best friend. It doesn't count."

"Are you saying my opinion doesn't matter?"

"No. Maybe. Yes."

"Oh, for fuck's sake, Sakura," Hori huffs, reaching out to shake her shoulder, "just look at me." When he sneaks a hand under her chin and tickles her there, anything to get her attention, her leg lashes out, kicking him in the shin. _Hard._

"Ow, ow." He winces, clutching at the sore spot. Add that to the other bruises from stage crew, and he's a broken man. "Okay, okay, truce. I'm not trying to pick a fight, but...can we be honest here?"

Tentatively, Sakura glances up, mascara smudged around her eyes, and nods.

"Okay, great." _Just keep talking, whatever you do, don't stop talking. _"I know my opinion matters, and yours does, too. So...tell me what's wrong."

"I just...he'll never look at me the way I look at him. He sees me like, I don't know, something convenient. Something decent enough to keep around, but totally disposable. I'm just...not good enough for him." Sakura chokes back a sob. "And this stupid project...it's like every failure in my life's being shoved back in my face. All those crappy grades. All that criticism. All that...sitting around, feeling sorry for myself. It's like...god, it's like reliving a nightmare."

He snatches up a tissue, reaching to dab the smeared makeup from her eyes. "Sakura, you work harder than anyone I know. You're so strong. Try not to beat yourself up so much, okay?" Propping her head up on a pillow and pulling the quilt up to her chin, he pats her clumsily on the head, tucking a loose strand of hair behind her ear. "We should call it a night. It's late, and you need to get some rest."

When he makes a move to slide off the couch, Sakura grabs his wrist. "Stay," she croaks.

Hori blinks. "Um, are you sure?"

Sakura nods, and before he can hesitate, she pulls him down to lay besides her. The couch is tiny, and there's barely enough room for them both, but somehow, they manage. He presses his back into the cushions and tries to give her as much space as possible, but she only grunts, pressing closer and cocooning into him, her hair tickling his chin.

She wrinkles her nose. "You smell like _booze_."

Hori barely stifles a snicker. "Is that a problem?"

"S'okay," she murmurs, nuzzling her face into his chest. "Good night, Hori."

He smiles into her hair. "Good night."

* * *

><p>Hori wakes up in a cold sweat, a sharp panicky feeling rising in his stomach. He forces himself to calm down, feels the air escape him in wheezy little breaths, the stickiness on his tongue and the dull ache behind his eye sockets.<p>

_5:14_, Sakura's clock reads.

God, he's forgotten what a fucking pain being hungover is.

Hori glances down at Sakura, still curled up in a ball, hair tousled, a bit of drool at the corner of her mouth. She sighs in her sleep (it sounds suspiciously like "Nozaki"), and rolls over, the quilt slipping down to her wait.

He really doesn't want to wake her, but then again, he needs a glass of water and an aspirin, pronto.

Carefully maneuvering over her, trying desperately not to wake her, he pulls the quilt back over her and tiptoes to the kitchen, reaching up to open the medicine cabinet. _Hydrogen peroxide, Benadryl, cough syrup, where the fuck is fucking-_

Hori pauses at the familiar purple box.

_Laxative Pills, maximum strength._

Sakura, hunched over the toilet. Sakura, two fingers down her throat.

His throat constricts.

He exhales shakily, trying to reason with himself. _Everyone keeps some around, right? It's normal, totally normal. _Taking a deep breath, he continues to delve into the cabinet. _Come on, you've got to be around here somewhere!_

_Chocolated Laxative Pieces_, a green box reads.

_Dulcolax Laxative, trusted for guarantee relief. Ex-Lax, stimulant laxative, gentle yet effective._

Sobriety hits him like at the speed of light.

Laxative, laxative, laxative. Little red and blue and purple pills.

Sakura, pinching her stomach in the mirror. Sakura, banging her fists and sobbing into his chest when that little silver zipper wouldn't move.

It's all so horribly familiar. Déjà vu, all over again.

This can't be happening. This can't be real.

_You lied to me. You said it'd never happen again. You fucking liar._

He reaches for his cellphone, punches in those three numbers with trembling fingers, and feigns some twisted semblance of calm as it rings once, twice, three times. "119, what's your emergency?"

"Hi, I'm Masayuki Hori," Hori says thickly, swallowing back a gulp. The words feel clumsy, stuck to the roof of his mouth. They taste like betrayal and failure and _fuck, here we are again- _old friends by this point.

"119, what's your emergency?"

"I," he falters, intakes a sharp breath, "my best friend is a bulimic."

* * *

><p>The hours feel like quicksand, dragging him down and down without escape.<p>

So Hori waits, watching them ooze by and take him with them.

At least the waiting room's nice enough. He isn't quite sure exactly what the waiting room of the psych ward's supposed to look like, but it's pleasant enough- cream walls, the warm babble of a radio in the background, plush couches, pale blue carpet. Still-life paintings and potted plants and all the celebrity gossip magazines anyone could ever want.

Yoriko Kashima's pouting up at him from a particularly gaudy issue, and it feels like a punch to the gut. _What the fuck do you think you're looking at?_ he wants desperately to scream, gnawing so hard at his cheek that he tastes the metallic tang of blood on his tongue.

God, has he ever felt so _heavy_?

The receptionist throws him a concerned look, and he deflects with a feeble smile.

"Masayuki Hori?" a nurse says, and he reluctantly eases to his feet, trudging over to the dor.

It might just be his imagination, but is she leaning away from him? Does he really look _that _bad?

He takes a whiff of his shirt and recoils. _Yeah, probably._

The nurse toys with her pearls, pursing her lips. "I know that you're going through a difficult time right now, but do you mind speaking with the doctor for a moment?" He flinches, and she manages an apologetic smile. "Of course, if you're not feeling up to it, we can always-"

"No, no, it's fine," he says, a little more insistent than necessary. "I'll talk."

She turns her heel and strides down the hallway, beckoning for him to follow. He shuffles behind her obediently, trailing a good meter behind, as she turns corner after corner, finally stopping at a nondescript gray door.

The nurse knocks softly. "Doctor? Hori-san is here."

"Come in!" a high, reedy voice calls out, and she opens the door.

The doctor immediately leaps to her feet, smiling warmly at him, the creases in her forehead deepening. "Mari Nakaguchi. It's a pleasure, Hori-san. Thank you for being so accommodating." Nakaguchi-sensei nods curtly at the nurse, who immediately slips away, closing the door behind her. "Please, have a seat."

He obliges, fidgeting as she takes the seat opposite him.

"So, I understand you and Sakura-san have known each other for quite some time."

Hori swallows. "Um, yeah. We're childhood friends."

"I see." Nakaguchi-sensei scribbles something on a notepad, glancing up to appraise him from beneath her silver spectacles. "Has she ever had problems with self-esteem? About her body, for example?"

"In middle school, she got bullied about her weight a lot. It...really got to her." Hori bites his lip._ Understatement of the fucking year._

"Mm-hm. Has she shown any signs of stress lately?"

"Yeah, about her art project. She was worried about that, and...this guy she really liked. She didn't think she was good enough for him." Guilt creeps up in his throat. "But I...mostly brushed it off."

"Any depression?"

"I...well, she seemed a little off." He glances down at his lap.

"Withdrawal from friends?"

"Yeah, definitely. I thought it was weird that she wanted to spend her birthday in, just with me, but I didn't push it. I just wanted to give her space. I...didn't think that it would happen again."

"Again?"

"She was hospitalized during our junior year."

"For how long?"

"A month."

"And how was she found out?"

"During our friend's birthday party." Hori squeezes his eyes shut. "I...I walked in on her in the bathroom, with her fingers down her throat."

Nakaguchi-sensei sighs, removing her glasses and pinching the bridge of her nose. "Well, Hori-san...I don't know what to tell you. Dehydration, dry skin, irregular heartbeat, traces of laxatives in her toxicology tests- it's practically a textbook case of bulimia nervosa."

"So...what now?" He isn't sure he wants to know the answer.

"Antidepressants. Therapy sessions. Time." Nakaguchi-sensei exhales slowly. "I wish I had a better answer, but really...there is none."

Hori clenches his fists so tightly he can feel his nails digging into his palms. "I just wish that...I could've stopped her. If I'd paid more attention, maybe I could've-"

"Listen to me, Hori-san." She lunges forward to grab his hand. "There was nothing you could have done."

"But that's not-"

Nakaguchi-sensei squeezes his hand. "Trust me, Hori-san- I've seen dozens of girls like Sakura-san throughout my career. And it never stops hurting, watching them destroy their bodies like that, believing that they can never be good enough. But we have to be there for her. Healing is slow- it can take weeks, months, even years. Sometimes it doesn't happen at all. But for now, all we can do is be patient."

They lapse into silence.

"Can I see her?" Hori blurts out.

She hesitates. "Fine. Only for five minutes." When he makes a move to stand up, she grabs his elbow, holding his gaze. "But you'll have to promise me something."

"Anything."

"Promise me that you will never, ever believe that any of this is your fault."

"I-" he falters, "I promise."

Nakaguchi-sensei concedes wearily, releasing him and gesturing to the door behind them. "Right this way, please." Easing to her feet, she opens it, and without a moment's hesitation,

he bolts through.

She's so frail, he hardly recognizes her, swallowed up by her polka-dotted hospital gown.

"_Sakura_," Hori breathes, rushing to her bedside. Hesitantly, like she might break, he laces her fingers through this; they're cold to the touch, stiff. _Like hell this isn't my fault. Like hell I couldn't have done anything._

She'd needed him, and he'd failed her.

If he hadn't been so caught up in stage crew, in his stupid Shakespeare classes and paying the rent and his late night shifts at the coffee shop and _Kashima _(her name is like an ache in his bones_),_ if he hadn't ignored her and brushed her off when it was so goddamn _obvious_, maybe he could've-

Sakura stirs feebly, cracking her eyes open. When she notices him, she starts to shake, a tear trailing down her cheek. "Fuck, of course you're here. Just when I thought I could hide."

Hori lets out a watery chuckle. "What did you expect?"

"Yeah, you've always been annoyingly reliable like that." She smiles unconvincingly, and turns her head, her hand going slack in his. A beam of sunlight hits her squarely in the face, and she's never looked so _tiny,_ so helpless. "I thought that...maybe, you'd put yourself first for once."

What is she talking about? He's always put himself before her, without fail, ever since he could remember. How can she say that, like he's a martyr all of a sudden, like he hasn't been selfish from the very beginning?

"_Idiot_," he mumbles.

"God, you're so transparent," she laughs. "I can practically feel you blaming yourself."

"I'm not," Hori lies, almost reflexively.

"Sure. Whatever you say." Sakura hesitates, closing her eyes. She takes a deep breath, like she's bracing herself, like it's physically paining her. "Hori, I'm-"

He tightens his grip on her hand. "Don't. Don't say a word."

The last thing he deserves is an apology.

* * *

><p>It's almost noon by the time he leaves the hospital, and it's stupidly sunny- the first time it's truly felt like spring this year. Cherry blossoms in full bloom, skies clear, a pleasant breeze in the air; it feels like the entire universe's conspired to mock him.<p>

"Hori-kun!"

He instinctively whips around, and immediately regrets it.

Sakura's parents are waving at him from the parking lot and _shit_, this is exactly what he'd wanted to avoid. Their earnest faces, creased with concern, prying questions and choruses of _call your parents, okay?_

Well, no avoiding it now.

Hori resigns himself to his fate, managing a polite smile. "Oh, hey. It's been a while."

"Far too long, young man," Sakura's father booms, shaking his head disapprovingly. He runs his fingers through his hair; although graying at the roots, it's precisely the same shade of red as Sakura's. The thought alone sends a pang through Hori's stomach.

"Tell us, have you been?" her mother trills. She's wearing lipstick a garish shade of plum and sickly sweet lavender perfume, which ticks him off for whatever reason.

_Your daughter is in the fucking psych ward. A relapsed bulimic, _he wants desperately to scream._ Do not make this about me._

Hori just barely restrains himself, letting out a bleating laugh to stall for time. "Oh, you know, same old, same old. Still slaving away at the coffee shop."

"Well, don't work yourself too hard now," Sakura's father admonishes, his bushy eyebrows disappearing into his hair, "or you'll-you'll-" he falters, going pale, and Hori feels a twisted sense of satisfaction.

_Good. That's more like it._

He's a horrible person, of course, but whatever, nothing he didn't already know.

Sakura's mother lays a hand on her husband's shoulder. "He's taking it a little hard," she informs Hori, pursing her lips. "Of course, we all are, but him especially. It's just hard to believe, after all of these years, she still thinks…" she trails off.

Hori gives a terse nod, his eyes locked on the parking lot asphalt.

Sakura's mother manages a thin-lipped smile. "Well, we'd better get going. See you around, Hori-kun." She gives her husband's shoulder a squeeze and steers him towards the hospital entrance.

"Ah, yeah. See you around," he says, still dazed.

At the last moment, she glances over her shoulder and starts a little, hurriedly rummaging through her tiny silver purse. "Oh, I almost forgot." She pulls out an envelope and presses it into his hand. "From your mother."

* * *

><p>Hands shaking, Hori tears open the envelope as soon as he's in the safety of his apartment. <em>Masayuki<em>, it reads in his mother's best penmanship, and somehow, it feels like a taunt. He can picture her hunched over her desk, mousy hair falling into her eyes, writing with the ghost of a smirk on her cracked lips.

A check falls into his fingertips, three years too late.

_A hundred thousand yen._

_A hundred thousand fucking yen._

Anger surges up his spine, clouds his vision with red.

"_Don't fuck with me_!"

There's a little note clipped to the check, but he doesn't bother, just rips them both up into tiny little pieces and lets them flutter into the wastebasket, imagines it's his mother's face. _Fucking bitch, who the fuck does she think she is?_

Hori has a wild urge to light them on fire, just flick the lighter and watch it _burn_.

He wonders if, with luck, it'll take him, too.

Hori punches the wall. Knuckles smarting, he slumps to the floor, buries his face in his hands. "_Fuck_."


	7. Chapter 7

"_Hey, you've reached Masayuki Hori. Sorry I can't talk right now, but leave a message and I'll get back to you ASAP."_

"_Hi, senpai! What's up? It's Kashima, if you couldn't already tell. You weren't at the coffee shop this morning, so just, um, calling to check up on you. Geez, this is so awkward. Whatever. Just call me back, okay?"_

Hori rolls over in bed, silencing his phone. "Fucking hell, Kashima."

* * *

><p>He comes back to visit the next day, knocking on her door. "Hey, it's me."<p>

Sakura cracks an eye open. "Hi," she says feebly.

Hori pulls a chair up to her bed and plops down. "So, how've you been?"

"Terrible. They keep forcing me through these awful therapy sessions. Like, tell us about your deepest and darkest secrets and shit." She wrinkles her nose. "Ugh, it's the worst. And my parents- god, you don't even want to hear about my parents."

He sighs. "I'm guessing you're gonna tell me about it anyways?"

"Precisely." She doesn't miss a beat. "I mean, I know they care about me, but do they have to be so passive-aggressive about it? It's always, oh, Chiyo, how could you do this to yourself? Oh, sweetheart, you can't handle it, majoring in art was a terrible idea, come home and let us sell your soul to fucking _law school_."

"You know they mean well," Hori says feebly.

"Of course they do." Sakura sighs, slumping back into her pillows. "It's just...that's the last thing I need right now. I feel useless enough." She manages a feeble smile, giving a shake of her head. "Never mind me. Are you holding up okay?"

_Fuck, no._

"I, um, okay, I guess," Hori stammers out.

She huffs. "I shouldn't even have asked. You look fucking awful. Let me guess: you didn't get enough sleep last night?" When he doesn't reply, she clucks her tongue, tilting his chin up so he's looking her straight in the eye. "Hori, listen to me. As flattered as I am that you're so worried about me...please, please, _please _don't do this to yourself."

_Says the one who shoves fingers down her throat, _Hori thinks viciously.

Guilt flares in his gut.

He wrings his hands out. "It's not like I'm trying, it's just that...it happens."

Sakura pulls away from him. "I was just...in a really bad place. We both were, and that's one thing we have in common- when things get tough, we take it out on ourselves. You, you kind of close yourself off, power down for a bit and reboot, and that's what I admire about you, if you want to the truth. But me...I just completely fall apart. I look in the mirror and see an awful, ugly, worthless person, and I want so desperately to _fix _it, and it...kind of got worse from there."

_That's what I admire about you._

_Power down and reboot._

And it's like they're stupidly naive teenagers again, crying on the floor of her bedroom.

Hori clenches his fists, digging half-moons into his palms.

"You know what we need?" she says. "A nice, long break. Just some time for ourselves. Doesn't that sound nice?"

He gives a terse nod, and Sakura smiles, leans forward to give his hand a squeeze.

"That's right," she says soothingly, massaging little circles into his palm. "You're okay."

* * *

><p><em>Just one day<em> turns into a two days turns into three turns into five.

Pretty soon, his tidy apartment disintegrates into a mess of empty ramen cups and desiccated pizza slices, dirty tissues and crumpled papers; his textbooks lay forgotten in the corner, dog-eared and pathetic, because _fuck school. Fuck responsibilities._

He watches as the missed calls begin to pile on top of one another.

"_Hey, you've reached Hori Masayuki. Sorry I can't talk right now, but leave a message and I'll get back to you ASAP."_

"_Total radio silence, huh?" _Kashima chirps from his phone. _"Huh, didn't think you had it in you. Anyways, are okay? I'm really worried, you know. Rehearsal's weird without you there, it's just way too...quiet." _A pause. "_Call me, okay?"_

* * *

><p>"Don't talk to me," Sakura groans, covering her face. "I'm on a shit-ton of medication right now. Like, I'm practically high."<p>

"That makes two of us." Hori shuffles over and eases down on the edge of her bed; the springs creak a little, and it's a tight fit, almost too close. "How do you feel?"

"Just...sort of numb." She heaves a sigh. "It's like my brain's completely sucked dry, and maybe all the bad stuff's gone, but what about the good stuff? Creativity needs a little crazy, right? Without it, I feel, I don't know,_ empty._ Nothing I try comes out right."

"Well, I have something that might cheer you up." Hori hands her a messily wrapped package. "I forgot about this with, you know, everything else, but here. Happy late birthday, pipsqueak."

"Oh, Hori…" She gasps, ignoring the jab. "You really didn't have to!"

He lets out a derisive snort. "Please. You would've killed me if I didn't."

"Hey, I was _trying _to be modest." Without ceremony, Sakura tears the wrapping paper off (it's decorated with little trees and most likely for Christmas, but details, details). She gasps again, a hand clamped to her mouth. "Is this…?"

"Only the most expensive charcoal set I could find. God, you _artistes_, paying a fortune for a stick of _carbon_." Hori shakes his head, barely repressing his smile when she fingers a pencil in wonder. "And hey, don't worry about it. Kashima helped me cover the rent, so I thought I could splurge a little, just for-"

Sakura pulls him forward by his collar and crushes his head to her chest, throwing her arms around his shoulders. "Thank you."

"I...uh, yeah," Hori stammers, taken aback. "No problem."

They lapse into comfortable silence.

"Pervert," she huffs. "I can feel you staring at my boobs."

"You're the one who shoved me into them," he fires back, disgruntled.

"How dare you accuse a lady of such things." Sakura cuffs him on the shoulder and shoves him playfully backwards. She nestles into him, the top of her head tucked under his chin, and gingerly opens the packet of charcoals, picking up her sketchpad from her bedside table. "Stay a while, okay? I could use the company."

He closes his eyes and leans his head back, feeling her feathery hair tickle his upper lip, and, to the scratch of pencil on paper, drifts off.

What could be ten minutes or ten hours later, he slowly opens his eyes. Sakura's hunched over her sketchpad, intently scribbling away with her new charcoal pencil, her fingers already smudged with black.

He yawns, leaning forward to peer over her shoulder. "What're you working on?"

Sakura starts, her eyes practically bulging out of their sockets, and clutches her sketchpad protectively to her chest. "You weren't supposed to wake up yet!" she squeaks. "Geez, could you be any more useless? You can't even sleep properly, for Christ's sake."

He grins coyly, folding his arms over his chest. "So...you were drawing me?"

Sakura flushes. "So what if I was?"

"Deviant."

"I am not a deviant!" she protests, batting him on the forearm.

Hori easily dodges her next blow. "Drawing people when they're sleeping...I don't know, sounds pretty deviant to me."

"God, you are _so_ annoying," Sakura huffs.

"So...can I see it?"

"Alright, fine," she concedes reluctantly, handing him her sketchpad. It's a rough sketch, pretty much a collection of smears and strokes, but so recognizably him- somehow, it brims with life, quivers and threatens to leap off the page.

He looks so peaceful, softer somehow.

It feels like a punch to the stomach.

"Well, is it good?" She's gnawing at her cheek and tugging at the corner of her hospital gown, looking at him apprehensively.

"I...wow, it's really something," he manages.

"What's that supposed to mean?" Sakura demands.

"It means that I love it, silly," Hori assures her, reaching up to tousle her hair. "What were you saying about nothing coming out right?"

"You really mean that?"

"Of course I do!" Hori insists, giving her a soft punch to the shoulder. "Tell me, Sakura, have I ever lied to you?"

She scrunches her face up in deep thought, passing her tongue over her lips. "Well, there was that one time in sixth grade when you-"

Oh, fuck, she remembered. Curse Sakura and her unusually sharp memory. "Okay, okay, fine, scratch that. Correction: I've never lied about anything_ important_, especially not your artwork. That's totally off-limits."

"Hm," is all she says.

Only then does it dawn on him.

"Anyways, if I'm not overstepping my boundaries," he continues, his lips upturning in a broad grin, "I'd say you have a pretty decent idea for your art project. You know, if you still don't have anything yet."

Something in her eyes _gleams_.

* * *

><p><em>You have two new messages.<em>

"_Mitsu-chan's pretty pissed, you know, that you're not showing up. I mean, it's hell week, senpai, come on! Ah, that's right, she asked me to leave a message for you."_ Kashima clears her throat._ "'Hori, you better get your lazy ass down here before I rip your balls off and drag you down here myself.' Her words, honest. You're just lucky you're her favorite; you wouldn't believe what she's done to some of the freshmen. Anyways, call me back?"_

"_Oh, speaking of Mitsu-chan, guess what she said the other day? She wants us to do a musical next year and she was going on and on about me being the princely lead or whatever, but can I tell you a secret, senpai?" _Kashima lowers her voice._ "I'm completely tone-deaf. Like, appallingly so. It's a miracle I've managed to hide it from her this long. So I was complaining about this to Seo- yes,_ that _Seo- when she told me that she's in the glee club, and as it turns out, she's their star performer. Can you believe that? Seo, star performer, the glee club's Lorelei? Anyways, completely blew my mind. And then, guess what, senpai? She offered to teach me a little, and it's, um, not going that great, but I still have hope! I'll be a Broadway star in no time, I'm sure of it. Guess people aren't always what you think they are, huh? Talk to you later!"_

"What if everyone wasn't who you thought they were? What, then?" he whispers to himself.

His fingers hover over the call button, but just stop short.

* * *

><p>"No, Sakura," Hori says, appalled. As much as he loves her, as much as he wants to make her happy, he has to draw the line <em>somewhere<em>. And honestly, this isn't a bad place to start. "No nudes."

He has to bite his tongue over _'cause you're a girl and I'm a guy._ They've been complaining about those words pretty much since the early days of their friendship, and he's definitely not gonna start throwing them around now.

"But why?" Sakura whines, brandishing her sketchpad at him. "It's not like it'll be anything new. I mean, we've seen each other naked before, right?"

"Yeah, when we were, like, six," he retorts, pushing it away from him. "Come on, isn't there something else you can draw besides, you know, my nude body? Something more personal?"

"But you _are_ personal," she insists. "You're my best friend, remember?"

"Okay, fair enough. But still, no way. I wouldn't be able to look you in the eye for the rest of my life." Hori hesitates. "How about...something you really care about? An important memory, maybe?"

Sakura twirls the charcoal pencil between her fingers, letting out a thoughtful hum. She starts doodling, little brushes against the smooth paper, and soon enough, a little bottle turned on its side takes shape, an assortment of pills spilling out.

_Laxative_, she writes at the top, and glances at him.

Hori is struck speechless. All he can do is gape.

She huffs. "God, Hori, stop looking at me like that."

"Like I'm fragile. Like I might break."

_But you already have._

That glint in her eyes- maybe she's already putting herself back together.

"I know you won't," he says softly. "It just...surprised me."

"Hori, I told you stop running away a while back and...god, this made me realize just how much of a hypocrite I am. I mean, I couldn't even take my own goddamn advice." Sakura squeezes her eyes shut and lets out a shaky breath. "It's hard, but...I want to face it. I want to move on. So, if I ever need it...give me a little push, okay?"

"Of course," he says. "Always."

* * *

><p><em>You have two new messages.<em>

"_Hey, senpai. I've been wondering about telepathy lately- like, maybe if I think about you enough, you'll somehow hear me, if you're not listening to me here already. I don't know, are you listening to me? Then again, if you aren't, this'll all be totally useless, right? Gah, too confusing. I'll shut up before this gets any more embarrassing."_

"_Call me. Call me call me call me. Is that enough call me's? Yeah, I think so."_

* * *

><p>A toilet. A bottle of pills. A hospital bed. A mirror. Two chairs, facing one another.<p>

And lastly, the portrait of him.

Hori thumbs through the sketchpad, tracing his fingertips against the outline of his sleeping face. "So what do you think?" Sakura asks him, jittery, carefully watching his face to gauge his reactions. He can practically feel her hold her breath.

He wets his lips. "It's great, but...I think there's been a mistake."

Sakura frowns at him. "What are you talking about?"

"You kept that picture of me in there."

"God, Hori, you can be such a dunce sometimes." She clucks her tongue, giving a disapproving shake of her head. "Let me spell it out for you: you're there because you _were _there."

"I don't understand," he says, because it's the truth. Even so, the words feel weighed and dumb on his tongue.

She smiles softly and shakes her head once more, and that's the end of it.

* * *

><p><em>You have one new message.<em>

"_I miss you."_

* * *

><p>His doorbell pings in the late afternoon, and ah, that must be the pizza delivery guy.<p>

Thank God. He's absolutely starving.

Hori straightens out his t-shirt and dusts the crumbs off of it, glances in his bathroom mirror to make sure he looks at least halfway presentable; he doesn't want to come off as a complete wreck, after all.

_Whatever, it's probably a lost cause_, he reasons, reaching for a wad of cash, and promptly shuffles to the doorway. "Hi, thanks for-"

Kashima blinks at him, pleasantly windswept and rosy from the chill.

_Oh, fuck, _he thinks. _Fuck, fuck, fuck._

Panicking, Hori starts to shut the door, only for her to jam her boot in the hinge before he even can get it halfway closed. He tries to push against it, desperately looking anywhere but at her, but she holds steady, steely calm.

"I had a hunch I'd find you here," Kashima says quietly.

"Well, you were wrong," he hisses. "Masayuki Hori isn't available at the moment. Leave a message after the beep."

"Haven't I already?" She raises an eyebrow at him. "Or maybe you didn't hear me?"

"Loud and clear," Hori snaps. "How the fuck did you get in here, anyways?"

"Your doorman let me in. He was worried about the abnormally high number of delivery guys he's had to buzz in the last few days," Kashima says. Her eyes are soft, and some twisted part of him wants her to scream, wants her to throw a temper tantrum, wants her to tell him how pathetic he is, goddammit, because he doesn't _deserve_ this.

He doesn't deserve anything from her.

"People are worried about you," she continues, and he lets out a derisive snort.

"A fat lot of good that's done me, hasn't it?" Hori laughs bitterly, shaking his head in disbelief. "_Worrying_, for fuck's sake." This isn't how he'd wanted this to go, so ugly and bitter and _mean_, but he can't help it; the words spill out like acid that's been bottled up in his stomach for far too long.

Kashima winces, and only now does she look the least bit angry. Her eyebrows knit together. "If you'd just _listen _to me- god, I tried not to pry, but this is just-"

"I'm fairly sure showing up on my doorstep constitutes as _prying_," he says scathingly. "Fucking A, Kashima."

She stomps her foot on the dirty carpet, and her eyes darken; the edge of her gaze is jagged, like a knife that cuts into him and refuses to let him go. "Listen to me, goddammit!" she shouts, and he's fairly certain the entire building can hear them at this point, but somehow, neither of them can bring themselves to care.

He's too stunned to reply, and she exhales shakily, settling her shoulders. "Something's not right, I'm sure of it. So now, you're going to let me into your apartment and tell me just what that is. And you're not allowed to argue."

"How can you be so sure?" Hori says icily. "How do you know I wasn't just sick?"

"Because you would've called me back," she says stubbornly. "You_ always _call me back."

How can she say that so confidently, like she _knows _him?

"And what if I say no?" he whispers.

"I'll wait as long as it takes," Kashima says. "We've got all day, after all."

"Even if you miss rehearsal?"

"Even then."

"Even if Mitsuzuri kills you?"

The ghost of a smile plays at her lips. "You heard me. Even then."

Blanching under the intensity of her gaze, Hori eventually concedes, stepping inside and opening the door. "Alright. You better come in, then. Fair warning, it's a little-" Before he can even finish, she's slipped off her boots and flounced inside, shutting the door behind her, and that's that.

He's trapped.

Kashima's eyes rake across the room, the half-full coffee cups and scattered papers.

"Wow, it looks...different," she manages.

"Uh, yeah," Hori says, running his fingers through his hair. "That's one way to put it." He clears away the mess on the couch and plops down, awkwardly patting the spot next to him. "Have a seat, I guess?"

They're both on edge, he can tell, and it absolutely repulses him.

She gingerly sits down, a good meter of space between them. "This was a last resort, you know. I tried anything I could think of- I called Mitsuzuri, I checked in on your classes, I showed up at the coffee shop, I even tried to ask Chiyo-chan-" Her eyes widen, and she immediately goes pale. "Oh God, _Chiyo._"

He stares pointedly at his lap.

"_Senpai_," she says urgently.

"I...she's staying in the hospital," Hori mumbles.

"What happened?"

"When we were in high school, she had a lot of...issues. During a friend's birthday party, I walked in on her in the bathroom, fingers down her throat. The doctors told me it's called bulimia." He squeezes his eye shut and takes a deep breath to steel himself. "Things seemed off lately, and I didn't really think much of it, but because of the stress or whatever...it came back."

They lapse into tense silence.

"You're punishing yourself, aren't you?"

He jolts back to reality, his eyes flashing open. She's glancing around the room again; her gaze rests sadly on an empty pizza box. "I have no idea what you're talking about," he says through gritted teeth.

"That's what this is. You think this is your fault, don't you?"

His hands ball into fists. "What do you know about me?"

"More than you think."

"Jesus fucking Christ." Hori laughs in spite of himself, a dark ugly sound that makes him want to vomit. "I can't believe we're having this conversation. Is this some fucked-up nightmare or what?"

"What is this, then?" Kashima demands. "If you're not punishing yourself, what _are _you doing?"

"Taking a break," he counters. _Powering down._

"A break? Don't make me laugh." She waves a hand around the room. "Is this taking a break? You're a _mess_."

Somehow, they've inched closer together on the couch, and _fuck_, this is way too close, close enough to count her lashes and see the hurt in her eyes, close enough to see his face reflected back at him and to hate himself for it.

"You don't understand." Hori says thickly. "I should've paid attention. I should've read the signs. I should've _stopped _her. If I hadn't been so selfish then maybe this wouldn't have-"

"So your solution is to lock yourself away?" Kashima cuts him off. "Is that what Chiyo would want?"

_She wants you to take the bait, she wants you to take the bait, don't don't don't-_

"What the fuck do you know what Sakura wants?" he shouts.

"More than you know, apparently."

Hori hesitates, and that's enough time for her to calm down and let out a shaky breath, to reach out to put her hand on top of his and for him not to stop her. Her fingers are warm and reassuring, as gentle as he remembers them being, and they squeeze his softly; he remembers slicked pavements and soaked shirts and that little umbrella between them.

_Oh God, I'm such a fucking idiot._

_I'm such an idiot._

"Just think about it," Kashima whispers. "If something happened to you, would you want _her _to fall apart? Would you want her to shut down?"

Hori shakes his head slowly.

"Do you promise to come back?"

He nods.

She heaves a sigh and gives a shake of her head, flicking the loose strands of hair out of her eyes. "Oh, thank God. Thank God." Kashima eases to her feet and smoothes out the creases in her skirt, hesitating. "You know, I wasn't kidding when said I missed you, you know. It just...sort of slipped out."

"Me, too," he mumbles, before he can stop himself.

"What?"

She has _got_ to be messing with him.

"I...I missed you, too."

"Glad to hear it." Her lips quirk up a little at that, like she's trying hard not to smile.

The doorbell rings for the second time that day, startling them both.

Hori stretches his arms above his head and jumps to his feet, making a move to answer the door. "Ah, that must be the delivery guy. If you'll excuse me-"

She positions herself in front of the door, folding her arms across her chest. "Uh-uh. Tell me, Hori- just when was the last time you had a proper meal?"

He cocks his head to the side. "I...had a ramen cup this morning?"

"Unbelievable. You, my friend, are in dire need of some real food." Hooking an arm through his, she drags him into his pathetic excuse for a kitchen and shoves him into his crappy matchbox chair, reaches on tiptoe to rummage through his cupboard.

"Oh?" Hori arches an eyebrow at her. "What do you have in mind?"

Her smile just about makes his heart skip a beat. "Chocolate chip pancakes."


	8. Chapter 8

Thanks to Kashima's influence, Hori's grown into the habit of checking the caller ID before picking up, so thankfully, today he has a moment to brace himself. He smacks a hand to his forehead, rolling over in bed. "Sakura, it's the_ crack of dawn_."

"Oh, stop being so melodramatic," she says snidely. "Since when is nine the crack of dawn?"

"Park your snark at the gate, please. It's Saturday, for Christ's sake." He reluctantly sits up, his covers splayed messily around him, and massages his temples. "Anyways, what's up?"

"You won't believe who just visited me," Sakura says, giddy.

Hori scratches his head. "Uh, that psych major you hang out with sometimes?"

"What? No!" she says shrilly. "_Nozaki, _dummy_._ I guess he heard from Kashima or whatever, but anyways, he stopped by my hospital room, and god, he was just so chivalrous, not to mention khakis are a _fantastic_ look for him-"

He yawns pointedly. "Get to the point."

"-and he brought me flowers!" Sakura squeals.

His jaw goes slack. "No fucking way."

"Yes way!"

Hori gives a shake of his head. "Are we talking about the same guy? No chance he has a long-lost twin brother or something?" Nope, he isn't buying this for one second. Clueless, deadpan Nozaki, displaying _tact_ for once? Impossible.

"It was hundred percent him, I swear! I told you he was sweet, didn't I?" she insists. "He came in and put this really beautiful bouquet of carnations on my bedside table and told me to feel better. Crazy, right?"

"Are you sure they aren't deadly? Possibly sprayed with cyanide?" He narrows his eyes. "He's always struck me as kind of shady, you know. Are you positive we can trust this guy?"

"Hori, what's up with you today?" Sakura admonishes, and her voice suddenly falls to a hush. He imagines her lips curling into a smirk, one eyebrow raised in a perfect arch and arms folded across her chest, pictures each individual eyelash mocking him. "You know what I think this is? _Jealousy_."

Hori laughs in disbelief. "Me, jealous of that nutjob? Whatever for?"

"The fact that you don't have the balls to get a girl flowers," she says smugly.

He freezes, lowering the phone.

"Well, Hori? Got anything to say for yourself?" Sakura taunts.

"Oh, you're on," Hori breathes.

* * *

><p>After his early morning shift the next day, he wanders into the florist's, shuffling through aisles and aisles of pinks and blues and yellows and purples, black-eyed susans and delicate white roses and vibrant tiger lilies.<p>

Breathing in the musky smell of the earth, Hori stops at a bouquet of irises, fingers the petals.

Hope, he remembers. _That's what they mean, right?_

"May I help you?"

The salesgirl is smiling at him, her dark green apron dusted with soil, a terracotta flower pot held to her chest. She's pretty, he thinks suddenly, all high cheekbones and creamy skin and dreamy eyes, chestnut hair pulled into a ponytail at the nape of her neck.

Hori drops the flowers, edging back towards the door. "Uh, no, just browsing. Sorry."

"Well, come again soon!" she calls after him, and he gives a jerky nod.

For some unfathomable reason, the thought alone sends guilt surging up his spine, makes him remember flecks of gold and freckles against pale skin and Kashima's heartbeat against his.

* * *

><p>For a girl barely taller than he is, Mitsuzuri is surprisingly intimidating. Rhythmically hitting her hammer against her palm, she tilts her chin up to glower down at him. Hori gulps at the spiky ring glimmering silver from her middle finger.<p>

"Well, look who decided to show up," Mitsuzuri drawls. She rocks up and down on her heels, raising herself up on tiptoe.

Of course she just had to choose today to wear those,he thinks, staring at her combat boots with the ridiculously high heels. _Totally impractical but stylish as fuck, _she'd once said to him, singsong, over the whir of the power tools. _Oh, and a surprisingly good weapon._

Hori timidly holds out her favorite drink as a peace offering.

Mitsuzuri eyes him beadily for a moment, before snatching the white chocolate mocha out of his hands and downing half of it in a single gulp. Wiping a dribble off with her shirt sleeve, she gives a shake of her head. "Thank God you're back. I'd rip your balls off, but, uh, kind of exhausted right now. And running on a six-pack of Red Bull. And, you know, hell week. Anyways, back to work?" She waves her hand in the general direction of the sets and pats his shoulder clumsily, sauntering away with a certain spring in her step.

Kashima nudges him in the ribs, utterly failing to suppress her smile. He only notices her dimples then, tiny indentations in her cheeks, and gets so distracted that he hardly hears what she's saying. "Told you you're her favorite."

He jerks himself back to reality, scoffing. "Please. She's on a caffeine high; you can't take anything she says seriously."

"And _you_ don't know how to take a compliment," she says playfully.

"Like being that tyrant's favorite is a_ compliment,_" Hori says, scathing.

Mitsuzuri pokes her head out from behind the curtain, narrowing her eyes at him. "What was that, Hori dearest?" she asks, dangerously quiet, smiling she's got fangs.

Fuck, how her canines so _pointy?_

"Just extolling your virtues, of course," he says hurriedly. "Nothing of note."

"Huh, that's what I thought," Mitsuzuri says with a hint of malice. "Don't push your luck, wiseass. Just 'cause you're not six feet under doesn't mean I've forgiven you yet."

Hori sighs. "I'm never gonna live this down, am I?"

"Nope!" Mitsuzuri chirps, disappearing once more. There's a moment of peace, just the gentle whirring of hum of the screwgun and the splash of paint on the sets, before a loud bang sound fills the air. "Houji, I swear to fucking God, if you fuck with the props one more fucking time-"

He rolls his eyes. "And here I thought she was actually being _placid_ for once."

"Well, that's our Mitsu-chan, alright," Kashima laughs. "This is pretty mild, actually."

Hori shakes his head mournfully. "Poor little bastard."

"She missed you a lot, though," she adds, out of the blue.

He raises an eyebrow at her. "Well, that came out of nowhere. What gives?"

"Oh, nothing much," Kashima says flippantly, the trace of a smile gracing her lips. "Just that you probably don't want to be in the general vicinity when she finally processes the fact that you skipped out on a week of duty. Hell week duty, no less. It'll be cataclysmic, you know.

Hori swallows back a gulp. If this Mitsuzuri is _placid_, maybe he hasn't seen the worst of it yet. "Oh, fuck."

"So, wanna escape?" she chirps.

He cocks his head to the side. "What do you have in mind?"

Her eyes_ sparkle_; it makes his chest feel uncomfortably tight. "You'll just have to find out, won't you?" She takes his hand (his palms feel clammy, all of a sudden, and no, his stomach is _not_ doing weird loop-de-loops, thanks for asking) and guides him backstage, pushing aside a stack of wooden planks to reveal a tiny door.

"Um, this seems weirdly similar to the start of a really clichéd horror movie," he says nervously, watching as she tugs open the door. Behind it is a half-staircase, half-ladder that seems to go on for miles in the half-darkness. "Are you sure this is safe?"

"Don't be ridiculous. I've done this a million times!" Kashima laughs, climbing up with practiced ease. She pauses, glancing back to chance a grin. "You do trust me, right?"

_Does_ he?

Then again, last time he'd trusted her, he'd ended up curled in a fetal position on a hospital bed with a fractured rib and a pocket of painkillers and an enormous bill he's _still p_aying off. Not technically her fault, but even so- the association stings.

The ladder rung creaks as he climbs, and he lets out a shaky breath.

"I, uh, yeah. Trust. Sure," Hori stammers. To cover up his sudden bout of spectacular awkwardness, he adds, "Too bad you can't catch me, though. Your princess might need saving."

Her grin broadens. "Well, why don't you give it a try? Just a heads-up, though: you might just tempt me to fall on purpose."

"I'll brace myself, then," he says, taking a break to breathe and wipe away the sheen of sweat on his forehead. "Fuck, this is exhausting. I have to climb this ladder and worry about being chivalrous? How do you do it?"

"Well," Kashima says delicately, throwing him a pointed look, "I have quite the princess, for starters."

Nope, nope, nope, his heart is _not _doing a weird tap dance right now.

"Cheesy. Only you could pull off something like that." Hori settles for scoffing. "That alone would send poor Mikoshiba into hysterics. Where did you even get that, anyways?"

"One of my mom's movies," she says drily. "Buff ex-Marine slash genius hacker slash male model with a disproportionately huge head saves damsel in distress from evil mastermind plotting to destroy the world and rides off with her into the sunset. You know. That sort of movie."

"Sounds terrible," he remarks, for lack of a better response.

"Yeah, I know, but it's better than nothing, right?" Kashima says with a shrug, a touch acidic. "If nothing else, I can at least watch her crappy movies."

They lapse into heavy silence.

"Uh, did your dad ever reply to that letter?" Hori says feebly.

"Total radio silence. Unlike you, I can't exactly go barging in into his house." She lets out a brittle laugh. "Last time I tried that, his security guards threw me out without so much as a second look."

He grimaces. "Ouch."

"Ouch is right," she agrees. "I know I'm a part of his life he'd rather not think about, and that he has a new family now and wants to stay away from my psycho mom or whatever, but honestly, would it _kill_ him to give me five minutes of his time?"

"You're so brave," Hori says before he can stop himself, and _yeah_, he totally means it.

Kashima shakes her head. "If I was really brave, I would've showed up at his door again. I wouldn't have given up. But honestly, what did I expect?" They reach another door, and she tugs it open, helping him out. "Here it is. Thrilling, isn't it?"

They're higher up than he'd thought, just enough to make his knees wobble a little, on a platform tucked just above the curtains, a set of harnesses dangling by their heads. The actors are tiny figures below, milling around the stage and the rows of auditorium seats- little squares of plush cushions and red velvet.

"What is this place?" he wonders out loud.

Kashima reaches up to tug a harness. "Well, it _was _where the actors got ready to do stunts and stuff, until a few years back someone got really badly injured and the administration banned doing anything dangerous in the theater. So, yeah, it's abandoned." She leans against the railing, resting her head against her elbows. "I found this place a little while back, wandering around backstage. Totally by accident, by the way. It's been my secret hideout ever since."

"Not so secret anymore," he quips.

"Well, I can trust you to keep a secret," she says, gazing fondly out at the view. "It's amazing, isn't it? I like to sit up here and just stare at those seats- I mean, there are just so many of them, right?- and imagine them completely filled up. Every last one. And I imagine standing on that stage with that spotlight on me, doing what I love, and every person in those seats cheering for me, getting lost in the play, getting lost in_ me_. It makes me remember why I act. I want to connect. I want to_ feel_."

"I think I get it," Hori says slowly.

"Right? Mitsu-chan thinks I'm crazy," Kashima laughs.

"Guess it's a theater major thing."

"Maybe it's a you-and-me thing."

He rolls his eyes. "God, you are _so_ embarrassing."

She cracks a sheepish grin. "It's just what makes me so charming, right?"

* * *

><p><em>Yeah<em>, Hori thinks, right after their first dress rehearsal._ Too charming._

A gaggle of girls (_probably freshmen_, he thinks scathingly) is clustered around her, a haze of sickly sweet lavender perfume and cherry lipgloss and ugly perms, oohing and aahing over her costume.

Mitsuzuri raises an eyebrow. "Why do you look so surprised? You did know she was super popular, didn't you? I mean, we've been dealing with this practically every rehearsal."

"I did, but-" words fail him completely "-_this_."

"Yes," she says, looking faintly amused, "this. Do I sense some jealousy?"

There it is again, j_ealousy_.

Growing flustered, he fights hard to repress the blush he can feel coming on, because he does not want to think about this, doesn't want to think about the weird flutter in his stomach or the bitterness rising in his chest. "I just- why do you even put up with this? Why don't you just kick them out?"

"Act for us, Kashima-senpai!" one girl implores, batting her eyelashes. "Just an eensy weensy peek?"

Kashima smiles warmly, giving her a flirtatious wink. "I can't, sweetheart. Strictly confidential. The show's Friday and Saturday, though- perhaps you'll honor me by coming?" She produces a handful of flyers from her pocket, and the girls practically pounce on them, shoving five hundred yen notes in her face.

Mitsuzuri juts her thumb on their direction. "See what I mean? It's an excellent business strategy."

Hori rolls his eyes. "You are _disgusting_."

She throws him a sleazy grin. "Don't hate the player, kid. Hate the game."

* * *

><p>"So," Sakura says coyly, in lieu of "hello," smirking up at him from her hospital bed with her sketchpad splayed across her lap, "about those flowers-"<p>

"No,"he says flatly, sliding into the chair next to hers. "Not happening."

She gasps, the charcoal pencil falling to the floor with a thud. "What?"

"Oi, watch out. Those things don't come cheap, you know," Hori admonishes, leaning forward to pick it up, "and like hell I'm gonna-" Sakura gives him a shove, and he lets out a choked-off sound, toppling off the chair.

Sputtering, he sits up with as much dignity as possible, glowering at her. "What the hell was that for?"

She huffs, folding her arms across her chest. "For breaking your promise."

"Technically, there _was_ no promise. I accepted your challenge, and now I'm admitting defeat," Hori counters, and grunts as he eases himself back into his chair, rubbing his sore behind with a grimace. "And besides, this is totally pointless. I mean, does she even _like _flowers?"

"Oh, don't be silly," Sakura scoffs, waving her hand. "_All _girls love flowers."

"Kashima isn't exactly like most girls," he mumbles.

"Touché," she concedes, albeit grudgingly. "Okay, fine, correction: all girls love getting _presents f_rom boys. Straight girls, that is."

"How do we even know _that_ for sure?" Hori asks, skeptical. "She _is _a chick magnet."

"You have_ got _to be kidding me," Sakura says reproachfully. "Remember all those times she was hanging around the coffee shop? She was _totally _checking out Ryuunosuke-kun." He's one of their regulars, a med student at the university with big hipster glasses and bushy eyebrows and a blue paisley scarf he swears his mother owns, too, perpetually bobbing his head to the indie crap blasting from his iPod.

"That pretentious dickwad?" He gags, wrinkling his nose. "But he drinks raspberry mochas. Kashima would never in a million years like a guy who drinks_ fucking raspberry mochas_."

"Well, obviously," she admits, lips curling into a devilish smirk, "but that got your attention, didn't it?"

Hori's at a loss for words. "You are_ incorrigible_."

Her smile only deepens. "Buy the flowers, Hori. You'll thank me later."

* * *

><p>Cradling the irises in his arms, he tiptoes into the auditorium. Kashima's standing alone in the spotlight, long after everyone else has gone home, her eyes squeezed shut. "She speaks: o speak again, bright angel," she murmurs, "for thou art as glorious to this night, being o'er my head as is a winged messenger of heaven unto the white-upturned wondering eyes of mortals that fall back to gaze on him when he bestrides the lazy-pacing clouds and sails upon the bosom of the air."<p>

Hiding the bouquet behind his back, he clears his throat. "O Romeo, Romeo! wherefore art thou Romeo? Deny thy father and refuse thy name; or, if thou wilt not, be but sworn my love, and I'll no longer be a Capulet."

She beams at the sound of his voice, opening her eyes. "Shall I hear more, or shall I speak at this?"

Hori starts climbing up the steps to the stage, his confidence wavering. _Don't chicken out now, don't chicken out now_, he orders himself. "'Tis but thy name that is my enemy; thou art thyself, though not a Montague. What's Montague? it is nor hand, nor foot, nor arm, nor face, nor any other part belonging to a man. O, be some other name! What's in a name? That which we call a rose by any other name would smell as sweet." He takes a deep breath, before placing the flowers in her arms and shrugging. "Not roses, but close enough, I guess."

Kashima presses them to her nose and inhales.

Flustered, it's a little impossible to resist the urge to babble. "Yeah, I know, it's probably not what you want but I thought you seemed a little nervous so I wanted to cheer you up and Sakura said that it was a good idea so-"

"And people say I'm the noisy one." Grinning, she shuts up with a peck on the cheek. "Thank you, senpai."

Fighting down the urge to blush, he reaches up to touch a hand to where her lips had lingered. Still warm and tingly, a little rosy. "Uh, yeah. Sure."


	9. Chapter 9

"One ticket, please."

There's a man standing at the counter, probably in his fifties, his bushy brown hair streaked with gray. He's round-faced and a bit potbellied in his tweed jacket, the skin around eyes crinkled with smile wrinkles, but he's looking a little harried, a little stiff, forehead lined and lips pulled taut.

Oddly enough, Hori swears he's seen him before.

He squints at him, drawing a blank. Is he a professor? A local weatherman? Some sort of celebrity?

_Don't be ridiculous_, Hori chides himself. _Like any sort of celebrity would come here. He's probably just some random guy I've seen around town or something. You're just jumping to some crazy conclusion- it's probably the caffeine. Yeah, that's gotta be it._

Still, he's unsettled.

The maybe-celebrity raises an eyebrow at him, and Hori snaps back to reality and shakes his head apologetically, scrambling to hand him a little pink ticket. "Um, yeah. That'll be five hundred yen."

While Hori's getting his change together, he notices the man's gaze lingering on the poster taped to the wall. It's a particularly impressive picture of Kashima bent on one knee, her lips pressed to Mitsuzuri's outstretched hand.

_Huh. Weird._

_But it's probably nothing._

"Enjoy the show," Hori says, handing him a program. Just as he's shuffling into the dimly lit theater, Moriyama, one of their costume designers, rushes back, tucking her flyaway blonde hair behind her ear.

"Thanks for helping out," she says breathlessly, depositing a new load of glossy programs onto the pile. "A couple of our guys bailed last minute, and we really needed the backup, so-"

Hori waves a dismissive hand. "Hey, don't worry about it. I'd feel bad if I was just sitting around, anyways." Moriyama smiles gratefully at him, before hurrying away.

He's only half-lying- Mitsuzuri's weirdly jittery, pacing around lashing out at the poor freshmen and practically shearing off the entirety of her bottom lip. Probably better to stay away from _that_ storm, he muses.

Then Kashima's fan club waltzes in, and it all goes to hell.

Their leader, a perky brunette wearing liberal amounts of sparkly purple eyeshadow, strides toward the counter, slapping down a handful of tickets. "Front row seats, please," she drawls, flipping her curls over her shoulder, and her cronies nod vigorously.

He shrugs, fighting the urge to roll his eyes. "First come, first serve."

"Oh. Thought they'd at least have the courtesy to reserve those for us. We _are_ Kashima-kun's biggest fans, you know," Purple Eyeshadow says primly, narrowing her eyes at them. "You_ do_ know Kashima-kun, right?"

_A fat lot more than you do_, he thinks viciously. _Whose cheek was she kissing again?_

_Whoa, easy there buddy_, the rational part of his mind chides. _Passive aggressive, much?_

"Um, vaguely," he mumbles.

"Thought so. She wouldn't hang around with small fry like _you_," Purple Eyeshadow says loftily, helping herself to an armful of programs and gesturing to her pack, who eagerly flock around her, bouncing up and down in their Mary Jane flats. "Let's go, ladies." Snapping her fingers, she marches into the theater, hips swishing with her every step.

Hori heaves a sigh, massaging his temples.

"Sounds like you're having a rough time."

Sakura's grinning tiredly at him, her hands stuffed into the pockets of the oversized Tinkerbell sweater he gave her for her fourteenth birthday, and padding forward in her plastic pink flipflops, her disheveled hair tied up in her signature polka-dot ribbons. She's obviously exhausted, lips chapped and cracked, skin tinged gray and without a single lick of makeup, but doesn't think she's ever looked more radiant.

He gapes at her. "What are you doing here?"

She mock pouts. "Is that any way to treat an old friend, especially now that she's a free woman?"

His jaw goes slack. "You got discharged? And you didn't _tell _me?"

"It was a surprise, dummy. I wouldn't miss this for the world," Sakura laughs, jutting her thumb towards the doorway. "And hey, look who I brought with me!"

Windswept, the rest of the support group tumbles in, shepherded in by a harassed-looking Miyako. Nozaki's impassive, as per usual, towering over a cackling Seo, who slings an arm over Wakamatsu's shoulder and pulls him into her with a guffaw. Meanwhile, Mikoshiba's sulking in the corner, ducking behind his copy of Shounen Jump when he catches Hori looking at him.

The look on his face must be pretty priceless, because Sakura stifles a giggle and punches him halfheartedly on the shoulder. "No need to look so horrified, silly. They'll be tame, I promise."

"It's not that. I'm just-"

"Awestruck?" Sakura supplies.

"Um, yeah. That's one way to put it," he says, dazed. "Thanks for coming, seriously."

"It was our pleasure, Hori!" Miyako smiles graciously, straightening her headband. "Goodness, it's been far too long, hasn't it? It's been a little difficult to arrange meetings lately, what with finals around the-"

Shoji pokes his head out of the theater, his eyes widening. "Hori! I've been looking all over for you- what the hell are you doing here?"

Fucking freshman. Hori raises his eyebrow at him. "Moriyama asked me to help out."

Shoji rolls his eyes. "Forget that. Mitsuzuri needs you. _Now. _She won't tell me what's up, but it's pretty serious- she says it's an emergency."

"Hori, what's wrong?" Sakura asks, her lips pursed.

"Oh, probably just Mitsuzuri freaking out for no reason. You know, blowing things out of proportion, just like always," Hori says shakily, trying to convince himself more than anything. Still, he manages a smile. "Catch you later, maybe?"

* * *

><p>"Fifteen minutes 'till show time!" someone yells.<p>

Mitsuzuri's standing just behind the curtain, biting at the inside of her thumb and tapping her foot erratically against the floor, as wired as he's ever seen her. It's a little shocking, seeing the usually composed Mitsuzuri fall apart.

He taps her on the shoulder. 'Hey, what's up? Shoji told me something was wrong?"

"Oh, Hori, thank God you're here," she sighs, looping her arm around his and tugging him down the hallway, towards the cast's makeshift dressing rooms. "I've been looking everywhere for you, and I was so, so worried-"

Hori puts his hand on her shoulder. "Mitsuzuri, you're freaking me out. What's going on?"

"Hori, it's Kashima."

All the air is sucked out of his chest in that instant.

"I really don't know what happened, but-"

He tightens his grip on her shoulder. "Mitsuzuri, tell me."

"She's holed herself up inside the bathroom and she's not coming out. And it freaked me out, you know? It's Kashima, she's perfect, she's indestructible, she's not supposed to _fall apart_." Her voice takes on a note of hysteria. "She's _Kashima._"

He wets his lips. _Maybe people aren't always what you think they are._

"Please, Hori, you've got to get through to her," Mitsuzuri pleads. "I don't care what you have to do, just- _please_."

He gives a terse nod. "Leave it to me."

She's hunched over the toilet bowl, as miserable as he's ever seen her, and dry-heaving, sticky webs of saliva trailing from her lips.

An image of Sakura sticking her fingers down her throat flashes in his mind, and his throat constricts. Pushing that thought away, he crosses the bathroom in a single stride and kneels down besides her. "What are you doing here? Show starts in ten minutes."

Kashima shakes her head, letting out a choked-off sob. "I can't do it, Hori. I just can't."

"What the hell are you going on about?" Hori snaps.

She hiccups. "It's my dad. I...I saw him. In the audience. And then I just couldn't."

_My dad._

The man who'd stared at the poster at the beginning. The maybe-celebrity.

"That slimy bastard," he whispers. "He didn't RSVP, for fuck's sake."

"That letter? I only sent it 'cause I got this twisted idea that if I somehow tried to confront him again, I'd magically feel better about myself. I was actually sort of_ relieved_ when he didn't reply. Can you believe that? _Relieved_." She lets out a bitter laugh. "I didn't think that he'd actually- that he'd actually-"

"So what?" The words leave his mouth before he can stop them.

Kashima glances up, blinking the tears out of her eyes. "What?"

"So what if he's there?" he repeats. "You told me something important the other day, the reason why you act. Does that change now that he's watching? Are you gonna just give that up?

"Kashima, I guarantee you, no one has worked harder than you for this. You earned your role. You gave the best fucking audition this school has ever seen. You rehearsed for hours and hours on end, saying those same boring lines over and over again until you knew them perfectly. God, it probably wouldn't even surprise me if you said them in your sleep!" He laughs. "But you're not the only one. We're a team, remember? We've all worked our asses off. And in the end, it isn't all about you. Because this- it belongs to all of us. This is _our _moment. And he's just lucky he gets to watch."

"I saw a talent scout in the audience," she says abruptly.

Perturbed, he shrugs. "Yeah? For Michimiya-senpai, probably. She _is _a senior, after all."

"I...you're right. I'm being selfish." Kashima shakily gets to her feet, waving him away when he tries to help her up. "I'm fine, senpai, really. Just being an idiot, like always." Wiping her eyes with her sleeve, she settles her shoulder, grinning from ear to ear. "Let's get this party started!"

* * *

><p>It all goes fairly smoothly, considering the earlier panic. Just a few hiccups now and then, misplaced props, a little scare in which there'd been a miscommunication with guy manning the curtain and the audience may or may not have caught a glimpse of him and Shoji wheeling out the balcony, but all and all, it's not too bad. By the third act, Mitsuzuri's even breathing again.<p>

It isn't perfect, but it was never supposed to be.

Kashima falls to her knees, clutching onto Michimiya's limp hand. "Ah, dear Juliet, why art thou yet so fair? Shall I believe that unsubstantial death is amorous, and that the lean abhorred monster keeps thee here in dark to be his paramour? For fear of that, I still will stay with thee; and never from this palace of dim night depart again: here, here will I remain with worms that are thy chamber-maids." She pulls a tiny bottle out of her breast pocket (Hori can confirm it's full of ginger ale, not deadly poison), a manic glint in her eyes. "Oh, here will I set up my everlasting rest, and shake the yoke of inauspicious stars from this world-wearied flesh. Eyes, look your last! Arms, take your last embrace! and, lips, o, you the doors of breath, seal with a righteous kiss, a dateless bargain to engrossing death!" A single tear trickling down her cheek, she bends over to kiss Michimiya.

Someone in the audience wails, blowing her nose into her handkerchief; it sounds suspiciously like Miyako. Honestly, he isn't surprised. Everyone in her row shushes her, and then, everything is still. Like the world is holding its breath, trained on that one tiny spotlight.

_Kashima._

"Come, bitter conduct, come, unsavory guide! Thou desperate pilot, now at once run on the dashing rocks thy sea-sick weary bark! Here's to my love!" Her eyes trained on her father in the back row, who shifts uncomfortably in his seat, Kashima uncorks the bottle and lifts it up in toasts. Tipping her head back, she gulps it down with a grimace, shuddering. "O true apothecary! Thy drugs are quick. Thus with a kiss," she presses her lips to Michimiya's, "I die."

The audience gasps as Kashima keels over, draped over Michimiya.

Someone sniffles behind him. Hori whips around, starting when he sees Mitsuzuri dab at her eyes with her sleeve. When he awkwardly pats her shoulder in a half-assed attempt to be comforting, she shakes her head, burying her face in her hands. "She's beautiful, isn't she?" Mitsuzuri whispers.

Hori can only nod.

_Kashima._

The prince bows solemnly. "For never was a story of more woe, than this of Juliet and her Romeo."

And with that, the curtain is pulled shut, a velvet wall between them and what's about to come. Lights dimming, adrenaline kicking in, Hori and the rest of the running crew rush forward to clean up, trying to stay as quiet as possible as they push Juliet's coffin off of the stage. Once they're done, however, standing behind the curtain with the rest of the actors, it's dead silent.

It's dark, but he doesn't need to see to know that it's Kashima next to him and- fuck, is she actually _shaking_? Without thinking much of it, he takes her hand into his, trying to bruise _you were amazing_ into her sweaty palms, and she clutches tightly back, like she never wants to let him go. Leaning into her, Hori waits with bated breath.

The applause is deafening.

Kashima sighs in relief, and he can't help but agree.

The curtain goes up, the lights flash a gooey yellow, and one by one, the actors run on stage to bow, grinning from ear to ear as the audience goes wild, leaping to their feet to cheer and clap. When it's Kashima and Michimiya's turn, he reluctantly gives her hand a final squeeze, before shoving her playfully onto the stage.

Michimiya grabs Kashima's hand, and together, they bow, waving goodnaturedly at the crowd. If possible, the cheers grow even louder; a whistle or two even pierces the air. A sheen of sweat glistening from her forehead, Kashima turns her head to smile at him, beckoning him over. "Come on, what are you waiting for?"

Hori shakes his head defiantly, folding his arms across his chest. "No way," he mouths.

Rolling her eyes, she lets go of Michimiya's hand and rushes over to him, prying his arms away from his chest and wrenching him onstage. "What are you doing?" he hisses, thrashing in protest.

"This is _our _moment," she whispers, cocking her head to the side. She's smirking, too- _god, what an insufferable idiot._ "Right?" Slipping her hand into his, Kashima practically frogmarches him onto stage, and he stumbles into the spotlight; he shoots Mitsuzuri a pleading look, but she only shrugs, sauntering ahead and gesturing for the rest of the crew to follow suit.

Among the sea of faces, a blur in the half-light, Sakura stands out as clear as day, beaming up at him. When his gaze flickers instinctively to her, she flashes him a thumbs up. _You can do this._

"Meet me you know where, okay?" Kashima murmurs into his ear, a loose strand of hair tickling his face, her breath fanning out across his neck. "There's something I gotta take care of."

When he gives a jerky nod, she beams at him, a twinkle in her eyes. "Good." She turns back to the crowd and, raising their arms to the sky, shouts into her mic, "Let's give it up for the stage crew!"

Staring out across the theater, Kashima's hand in his, Hori grins.

Needless to say, it's the best night of his life.

* * *

><p>There's a creak behind him.<p>

Kashima crouches low to slip out of the door, shutting it behind her. She's changed out of her costume- all of the makeup scrubbed clear from her face, no more fake sword or golden doublet or tiny bottle of ginger ale. Just plain old Kashima, from her tousled hair to her blue button-downs to her cargo pants.

She joins him, sitting perched on the edge with her legs dangling. "Hi."

"Hi." Hesitating, Hori swallows back a gulp. "So, um...did you talk to your dad?"

"Yeah, a little. It wasn't as scary as I'd thought it'd be. We just sort of...talked, he gave me his phone number, and then he left. Simple as that." Kashima shrugs, letting out a brittle laugh. "I guess that made me realize that I'm over it. I mean, I want us to know each other and catch up or whatever, but it doesn't seem like...I don't know, so important anymore. I just thought I'd...try for once."

He nudges her gently with her shoulder. "Told you you could do it."

Kashima heaves a sigh. "Why do you always have to be right?"

Hori grins. "I don't have to be. With you, I just am."

A pause.

"Oh my God, did we just quote Legally Blonde the Musical?"

"Guilty." He braces his hand in surrender.

She shakes her head in disbelief. "Man, totally set myself up for that one."

"Right? And you said you didn't like musicals," Hori says coyly.

"Just because I can't be in one doesn't mean I don't_ like_ them." Kashima freezes. "Wait, how did you know that? I don't ever remember mentioning-" Realization dawns on her face. "Oh God, the _messages_. You actually listened to them?"

"Every last one," he drawls, rather enjoying the horror in her eyes.

She smacks a hand to her forehead. "It was 3 AM and I missed you a lot and just, ugh- _so _embarrassing. Even by _my _standards."

"Well, the first step is admitting the problem," Hori quips delicately, ducking to avoid a half-hearted punch aimed at his head. He glances up, but it's a fatal mistake- they lock eyes, and for a moment, it's impossible to look away.

"Alright, that's enough fooling around," Kashima finally says, and clears her throat. "I've got something important for you." Reaching around to rummage through her back pocket, she pulls out a fifty yen coin, flat against her palm.

He stares blankly at them, before it clicks.

_Right. Laundromat. Short fifty yen._

Shaking his head, Hori closes her palm right back over it, clucking her tongue. "Idiot," he grouses. They're way too close, he realizes, close enough for him to lay a hand against the small of her back and cup her cheek, brushing his thumb over her lips.

_Too close._

Something in her eyes glitters, and somehow, it feels like a challenge.

Leaning in and nudging his nose against hers, their mouths fall lazily together, and he'd be lying if he said it was entirely an accident.

_Oh, soft,_ he thinks numbly._ Her lips are soft._

_All lips are soft, idiot, _the rational part of his mind grumbles.

_Shut up, brain._

Kashima stills, clearly stunned, before laughing into his mouth, tilting her head and tangling a hand into his hair. They find their rhythm eventually, all gentle nibbles and teeth clicks and the tease of her tongue against the seam of his mouth, slow and aching and sweet.

They part what could be thirty seconds or thirty years later, breathing heavily, lips just barely brushing against one another.

"Again?" he croaks.

She presses her forehead against his. "Again and again and again."


End file.
